The Infinity Wars: Divided I Stand
by 100th Century
Summary: The Nine Realms are at peace, the Camps are enjoying freedom, and the Avengers have settled down—all seems well. But an imposter sits on Asgard's throne and something lurks in the shadows of the universe while primordial beings stir. The Norns cackle, the Fates furiously spin yarn, and the Parcae chant: The end is nigh. And Thanos is just the tip of the iceberg.
1. Don't Pull a Stark (aka Don't Be Late)

**PLEASE READ, even if you're reading this long after this chapter was posted. I fear I may have lost some readers, simply because I've changed the title of this story so many times. So, the original title was** ** _Fall, Fall Through Tears and Fall Through Laughter_** ** _._ The second title was _The Fall of the Nine Realms._ And of course, the title then became _Divided I Stand._ And then I changed it to the current title: _The Infinity Wars: Divided I Stand._ Hopefully, that's what the title will remain.**

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 **Hi everyone! This is my first fanfiction, but not my first story. I WELCOME constructive criticism, so please, read and review. I** _ **will**_ **be reading all of the reviews, so if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to provide them or PM me. I'm still learning many of the terms on this site, so . . . yes. I hope for updates to come once a week, if not more.**

 **All appropriate elements go to their respective owners. This disclaimer applies to the entire story (because I keep forgetting).**

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Don't Pull a Stark (a.k.a Don't Be Late)

Percy paced back and forth in the studio, looking at the clock with a slightly bored and annoyed expression.

His new client was late.

It was curious enough that this same new client had requested for personal, one-on-one classes and had even offered to pay triple his usual rate just for this privilege, but being late was not curious. Not when Percy had a class to teach at Camp Half-Blood 30 minutes immediately after this lesson, and a date with Annabeth following close behind.

The triple pay was nice, though. To be honest, Percy hadn't expected much when he'd applied for the vaguely titled "Fighting Instructor" job in the newspaper. All he cared was that it gave decent wages, the studio was only 2 blocks from his apartment (you can imagine how much effort and persuasion it took on his part to convince his mom that, yes, he was nearly 18 years old now, and yes, he _was_ capable of living in his own apartment—with supervision, of course) and most importantly, he was only teaching beginners. People who had decided that alien attacks were becoming common enough that it was time to learn how to defend themselves. So while the teaching pace was agonizingly slow and some—scratch that, _a lot_ —of people signed up for classes under the stupid belief that they'd become "awesome fighters with ninja-moves", it wasn't too bad. He made sure to warn his class at the beginning of each lesson that he was teaching them basic defensive moves, and they would only be able to temporarily protect themselves from a human attacker, forget monste—sorry, _aliens_.

Percy was just about ready to up and leave, fed up with his new client's tardiness, when the entrance door to the studio (it was a very small studio, mind you) opened and a man breezed in, another man following close behind with a bag.

Percy's eyes narrowed. The first man—most likely his client—looked nothing like the people that he usually taught. In fact, his entire appearance scoffed "Forget millionaires—I'm a billionaire." He wore an expensive grey suit jacket, most likely tailored to his physique down to the last cuff, with a dark red dress shirt underneath and a matching grey tie. His gaze swept the tiny one-room studio with eyes covered in red-tinted shades, and he stepped onto the fighting mat with shiny, polished, expensive-looking shoes. Percy would have thought that this man was just another well-dressed god looking to have a chat with him, if not for the fact that he lacked the trademark aura of intense and overwhelming power that always accompanied the immortals. Making the assumption that this stranger was simply a very rich mortal (considering the fact that Percy couldn't see any of the telltale signs that would mark him as a monster), well . . . he couldn't help but immediately dislike him.

Now, Percy wasn't poor to the point of homelessness. He _did_ make his own living. But he had grown up with money problems, and standing before this billionaire-looking man, wearing his black t-shirt and workout shorts stained with sweat from his last class, he felt out of place. It was a feeling similar to when he entered his uncle's throne room, surrounded by a dozen—no, 14, since Hades and Hestia were now included in many, if not all, council meetings—Olympians, all of whom had the power to disintegrate him or turn him into whichever animal they were in the mood for. He hated that feeling.

Percy filed all of the thoughts away and stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Hi—I'm Percy. I'm assuming you're the client who asked for private lessons?"

To Percy's surprise, the man obliged, giving a smirk and taking his hand, shaking it in a strong, firm grip that spoke of years of practice. "Yup, that's me—Tony Stark. Sorry I'm late—had to sneak out of Stark Tower to avoid the paparazzi." He didn't sound sorry.

"You might be wondering why I'd want combat lessons"—no, Percy wasn't wondering—"when I've got all of my friends, but let me tell you, kid—that never goes down well, and they never let me hear the end of it." He nodded to the man behind him. "Figured that it wouldn't hurt to pick up some lessons from someone who wasn't from the team. Hence the issue of avoiding the paparazzi—if they got a whiff of this, everybody would be on my ass." He took off his shades to reveal dark brown eyes that matched perfectly with his short dark brown hair. If Percy had to guess, he was probably in his 30s or 40s, but he looked pretty fit. "This is Clint." He said, waving vaguely behind him to the other man. He also had dark brown eyes and hair, but that was where the similarities stopped between him and Stark. Clint was a little taller, younger, and significantly more muscled, and that was evident from the t-shirt that hugged his arms and torso. His face was well defined and his eyes hard. In Percy's eyes, he saw a fighter.

Clint looked right back at him, and despite the seemingly disinterested gaze that he wore on his face, Percy knew that he was conducting his own observations.

"He wouldn't be here in the first place," Tony rambled on, oblivious to the brief tension. "Honestly, I was going to bring Happy. But then Clint found out about my lessons, and he lost a previous bet with me, so I made him my bodyguard/butler for the day!" Tony beamed.

Clint turned his attention to Tony, and he didn't look happy. In fact, he looked like he could strangle Tony with his muscled arms. But he didn't, fortunately—or unfortunately. He simply rolled his eyes, saying, "Don't push your—"

"Uh uh uh, agen—Barton." Tony chided, briefly turning around with a smirk. "Butlers don't talk, remember? Complete silence."

Clint's eyes narrowed, as if daring Tony to say more. He wisely turned back to Percy.

Percy nodded as if he understood everything that had just happened, noting Tony's slip up—had he been about to say _agent_? And _Tony Stark_ . . . He knew that name from somewhere.

The man was looking at him as if expecting some big reaction from him. Realization seemed to dawn on his face. "You don't know who I am? Tony Stark? Billionaire, CEO of Stark Industries, Iron Man—AVENGERS? Doesn't ring a bell? Nothing?" He turned back to his colleague, irritated. "Barton, something's wrong."

Clint snorted, breaking his silence again. "No—something's finally _right_."

Percy couldn't help but snort as well. Now he knew why he had recognized his name. Annabeth, whenever the Avengers Tower—formerly called Stark Tower—came into sight, talked about him _incessantly._ She hated his arrogance, sure, but she was in love with the architecture of his buildings and his newest and most current projects, such as the clean energy program. In fact, she was currently trying to get a job working at Stark Tower.

And Iron Man—Percy scoffed quietly. In that machine, all the billionaire did was destroy. He had seen the damage that had been wreaked on the state, and especially his own city of Manhattan, in the battle between the Avengers and the invading aliens. A battle that Chiron had absolutely prohibited him from joining to his horror and rage. Even the Battle of Manhattan with Kronos hadn't cost the city—and the state and federal government—as much trouble, headache, and money. So yeah, Percy knew the arrogant and foolhardy Tony Stark alright. Not that he was going to give him that satisfaction.

Percy shook his head. "No, sorry, Mr. Stark." He caught Tony's horrified stare and shrugged. "If you'd like, I can transfer you to another instructor."

Inwardly, Percy prayed that he would accept. He didn't want to have to deal with this jerk for another minute. Yes, he had a grudging respect for the man. After all, Stark had sacrificed himself to ensure that millions didn't die from the nuclear bomb that had been released by SHIELD, a shadow organization that had been exposed after its headquarters exploded following attempts by members of the Avengers, including Captain America, to take out the HYDRA influence that had slowly infiltrated SHIELD's system. However, his destructive actions and those of his comrades all over the world had caused much sufferance and pain, and still were. Percy wasn't even going to get started on the aftermath following Ultron. Despite the fact that he'd been in Tartarus with Annabeth when the homicidal AI had been on its path of human genocide, he was well aware of the devastation, most notably in Sokovia and Wakanda, that had been caused by the group of heroes. And of course, all of the other political, economic, environmental, and social problems that had ensued. You could imagine the public backlash—it wasn't pretty.

Tony shook himself, pocketing his shades in his suit pocket. "Nope, that's a no can do. I have to remedy this situation." He began to take off his suit jacket. "Trust me kid, by the end of this month, we'll be best buddies." He shook his head again, muttering, "Maybe if I hadn't gotten my arc reactor removed—it'd been pretty recognizable . . ."

Percy groaned inwardly. _Why? Why me?_ If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that Clint gave him a brief look of sympathy. Percy watched as Tony shed his suit jacket, expensive-looking watch, and then his shoes, before offering it all to Clint.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Oh sorry, I wasn't aware that I was your maid as well."

Tony sighed before placing them by his bags. "Useless," he muttered as he stepped onto the fighting mat. "Absolutely useless."

"Can't say you're any better," Clint said with indifference.

"Ouch, that hurt Barton." Tony placed his hand to his chest, but the tone of his voice said something else entirely—he really didn't care.

Percy gave a sigh as they bickered, resigning himself to his fate. He walked over to the man, noting that he was under the close observation of Clint, and started with stretches before beginning to teach Tony the basics of a defensive fighting stance, not bothering to point out that his client's dress shirt and pants weren't exactly the best clothing suited for fighting.

He wasn't that bad, Percy acknowledged. The billionaire had a surprisingly good grasp of some of the key points when it came to stances. Probably because he spent half his time fighting as Iron Man. And he was rather spry for a 30/40 year old. His defense and balance weren't too bad either; however, he could tell that the man was used to his metal suit taking the brunt of an attack.

"Your feet have to be farther apart." Percy said for the umpteenth time, annoyed. "Otherwise, I can do this—" Percy kicked at one of the man's feet out of the blue, "And that happens." He finished, as Tony took another tumble onto the ground. Now Percy was the one who was smirking.

There was a snicker and Percy looked up to see Clint also grinning down at Tony.

Tony frowned, looking back at Clint as he assumed an innocent look, and picked himself up. "I swear, you seem to be having fun kicking my ass." It was obvious that he wasn't used to taking orders from someone else, and Percy being years younger than him probably didn't help.

And yet, even as Percy critiqued each of his various stances, the man rambled non-stop about his life. In the space of those 2 hours, Percy picked up so much information that he probably now knew more about Tony Stark, Stark Industries, and the Avengers than Annabeth herself. And it turned out that Clint—Clint Barton—was a member of the Avengers Initiative under the name Hawkeye. Or rather, he was an ex-Avenger, as Clint liked to point out each time Tony attempted to include the archer with the rest of the motley group of heroes. Nevertheless, Percy had been right—Clint was a fighter.

He also learned that Stark occasionally boxed, which probably also explained for some of the billionaire's previous knowledge with defense techniques. However, Tony's experience with boxing didn't help with much else—boxing assumed that the opponent had the decency to not beat you to death. Real fights were anything but that.

The moment the clock indicated 5:00, Percy turned around and started to pack up—leaving Tony on the ground after Percy had found yet another flaw in his defensive stance.

"Hey, where are you going?" Tony asked as he picked himself up.

Percy wordlessly pointed to the clock, throwing on a varsity swimming hoodie in preparation for the cooling temperatures outside. Usually, he would be warm enough from the classes to venture outside in the cool evenings without a sweater, but this time, he hadn't sweat a single drop in the 2 hours of this lesson.

"Oh—will you look at that. Well, I guess I'll see you on Thursday, then."

Percy raised an eyebrow to himself. If he didn't know any better, he would have said that the billionaire sounded . . . disappointed. He straightened, turning around and noticing through the window in the door that Kayla—the instructor for the next two classes—was outside, waiting patiently as he wrapped up his own class.

"Nice meeting you, Mr. Stark." He headed for the door.

"Hey! Hold your liquor, kid."

Percy turned around, hiding an annoyed expression, and watched as Tony scribbled something on a piece of paper before handing it to him. It was a photo of Tony Stark, and even with his dyslexia, he could tell that the looping words beneath his smirking face were his signature.

 _By the gods_ . . . Percy thought. _Did he just give me his autograph?_ He looked at Clint, who nodded at Percy behind Tony's back, as if to say, _Y_ _up, that's Tony Stark for you._

Tony, misreading Percy's face, clapped him on the back, grinning. "Don't worry about it, kid. Got a dozen more like it. And please, call me Tony."

. . . .

Percy got to Camp Half-Blood just in time to teach his sword fighting class. It helped that monsters tended to stay away from him now. Ever since the war against Gaea had ended, monsters rarely attacked senior demigods. Not unless they had a death wish. It made it a lot easier when it came to bringing new demigods to the camp—with senior campers escorting them the entire journey, they encountered few problems except the occasional hellhound or empousa that was foolish enough to attack a veteran demigod and satyr.

After dismissing his class one hour later, Percy hurriedly took a shower and ran out of the camp while fixing his bowtie, meeting with Argus on Half-Blood Hill, who then took him back downtown in one of the Camp's SUVs. When they arrived at his destination, he thanked Argus and dashed down the sidewalk, skidding to a stop before a fancy burger joint. Feeling his asthma begin to act up again, he took several deep breaths while mentally spewing curses at Tartarus and its terrible acrid air—he was definitely _not_ in the mood for an asthma attack right before his date. Feeling a wave of relief as his air-constricted pants slowly faded away, he nervously fixed his bowtie again before stepping inside the restaurant. The bustle of waiters and waitresses and the waft of greasy food slid right past his senses as he spotted Annabeth and made his way over to her, flopping down on the seat across from her.

"Hi." Percy gasped.

Annabeth looked at him with her stormy grey eyes, clearly unimpressed, and handed him a glass of cold water, as if she'd already prepared for this.

Percy took the glass gratefully, downing all of the water, feeling his heartbeat slow down enough that he flashed a grin at his girlfriend. "I'm not late this time!"

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, silently pointing to the fancy clock hanging behind a counter at the back of the restaurant. 6:35.

Percy turned back to Annabeth, rolling his eyes. "That clock is ahead by five minutes." He said, showing her the watch that Tyson had made for him. "See?"

Now Annabeth rolled her eyes, tilting the face of the watch back at Percy. The watch read 6:35.

"I swear, it said 6:20 ten minutes ago!" Percy said, shocked.

Annabeth laughed, finally breaking her silence. "I'm sure it did. Percy, when are you ever on time?"

"I can make it up to you." He said, remembering everything that he had learned earlier in the afternoon.

"Oh?" Annabeth leaned back, entirely ready to let her boyfriend stew in his seat.

"I met Tony Stark today."

Immediately, there was a look of interest and curiosity on her face. She leaned forward again, her eyes narrowing. "Percy Jackson, if you're lying to me . . ."

"No, I swear, I'm not!" He plunged into the story of receiving an e-mail from an interested potential client and described the afternoon's class, along with everything he had learned about Stark Industries and the Avengers.

"And then the dude gave me this," Percy said, rolling his eyes as he took out the autograph and placed it on the table next to his empty, crumb-strewn plate.

Annabeth laughed. "I guess what they say about his streak of ego is true."

"Bigger than Stark Tower," Percy agreed. He tilted his head—now that he thought about it, Tony Stark did remind him of a monster. He was arrogant, self-centered, and genuinely believed that everyone knew who he was—he was essentially a rich, mortal (and good-looking, Percy relented) version of every Greek monster that Percy had ever had the opportunity to trade words (and blows) with.

Annabeth shrugged. "Not bad—I guess you did manage to make up for being late."

Suddenly, Percy's phone _dinged!_ Percy pulled out his phone, wondering who in Hades would be sending messages to him at this time of day. He'd gotten the phone purely for emergencies—he figured that since monsters were avoiding him now, it didn't hurt to have one. It was an e-mail from one Clint Barton.

Percy frowned. The man must have gotten his e-mail address from Tony. He showed it to Annabeth, who also frowned. He opened the e-mail. It read:

 _In return for making my day bearable (and entertaining):_

Percy opened the video attachment. The familiar setting of the studio appeared on the screen of his phone, and in the middle of the fighting mat were two people—him and Tony.

Realization dawned on Percy's face. "Clint—he must have taken a video of the lesson." He shook his head, slightly unnerved. "I didn't even notice he had a phone out."

They watched as Percy knocked down Tony Stark over and over again, merciless and unrelenting in his instructing of the billionaire. Annabeth had to admit, it was slightly amusing.

"Wow—I almost pity him." Annabeth commented, trying to stifle a laugh as she watched Tony picked himself up yet again.

Percy snorted. "You wouldn't if you knew how much he loves to hear himself talk."

Annabeth tilted her head thoughtfully when the video ended. "Maybe you should ask this Clint Barton for archery lessons."

Percy rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to use him as target practice, then sure." Everyone knew he was absolutely terrible at archery—the target could be a foot from him and the arrow would still end up 20 feet elsewhere.

"True—and then you'd make a fool of yourself, and nobody wants that, right?" Annabeth winked at Percy, standing up after he'd paid the bill.

"Nope, definitely not." He linked his arm in hers and they walked out into the night.

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 **(The Halls of Asgard)**

"Father." Thor lowered himself to one knee, Mjölnir at his side.

"My son." Slight surprise coloured the All-Father's voice. "This is an unexpected return."

Thor rose to his feet. On either side of him, brilliant gold columns rose to a high and yawning ceiling that domed the giant throne room of Asgard. The prince was dressed in his custom war attire: a shining, well-sculpted breastplate backed with a crimson cape, along with formal knee-high boots and gilded vambraces.

Across from him, the King of Asgard sat upon a raised dais, Gungnir grasped in his right hand. The one-eyed man, to a human, would have appeared old and intimidating. In Thor's eyes however, he saw only strength and wisdom.

"Yes, but I hope it is a pleasant one." Thor joked.

"Of course, of course." Odin smiled slightly, the lines around his eye crinkling. "But the last I heard from Heimdall was of you fighting in yet another war on Midgard."

"Yes, it was a . . . small conflict." Thor finished. "Resolved last year." It was certainly not "small" in the eyes of his Midgardian friends, but Thor had fought in wars—in comparison, the battle waged against Ultron was a mere skirmish.

"Ah." Odin scrutinized his son. "But I believe you have not come to keep your father company. Something worries you."

Thor pursed his lips. Yes, it was worrying. Four of the infinity stones turning up in the last few years . . . no, it could not be a coincidence. Someone was toying with them. "There is something amiss, Father. Five years ago, the Tesseract was found beside Steve Rogers. Four years ago, Loki resurfaced wielding a scepter containing power that I had never encountered—I recently discovered that it housed the Mind Stone. Three years ago, we crossed paths with the Aether. Two years ago, the Power Stone was found on the planet Morag."

Odin's gaze was piercing. "The Infinity Stones . . ."

Thor nods. "These are not flukes of Fate, Father. There is someone playing Norn*, and we are the unlucky pawns."

"Loki's scepter contained the Mind Stone?" Odin was not asking a question—no, he was thinking.

"Yes. It is now in the safe care of a being called The Vision."

Odin raised a brow. "You would entrust an Infinity Stone with this Vision?"

"He can lift Mjölnir." Thor said, motioning to his war hammer, as if the explanation was enough.

And it was. Any being that could lift Mjölnir was worthy of trust, at the very least. Nevertheless, Odin frowned. "Should I be expecting a challenge to the throne in the future?" His tone was partly teasing, but the tension was evident enough.

"No, no." Thor said quickly. "The Vision is not interested in such things—he remains on Midgard, with the Avengers."

Odin nodded slowly, seeming satisfied. "You are right with the Infinity Stones; I have had my suspicions for a time now. It would seem that my fears are becoming true. If it is true that someone is orchestrating the rise of the Infinity Stones, we must act—quickly."

The All-Father rose from his throne and stepped down the stairs of the dais, placing a hand upon Thor's armoured shoulder.

"We must find the rest of the Infinity Stones, before they fall into the wrong hands. Go to Vanaheim; seek out Frey. He may be able to locate the last two stones."

Thor nodded. "And what of you, Father?"

There was a calculating look in Odin's eyes. "I? I will think."

Thor hesitated, momentarily thrown off for reasons that even he himself could not discern, and then nodded again. "Very well. I will depart immediately." He turned, beginning to leave.

"And Thor." Odin called. Thor paused, turning around. "Return with the location of the Stones—I do not want to hear from Heimdall that you have taken it upon yourself to gallivant about the Nine Realms."

Thor bowed his head. "Of course."

Then he left.

Odin's form glowed green for the smallest of moments.

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Loki strode down the corridor, making sure to keep his gait slow and nodding to each noble he passed. Oh dear Valhalla, this was maddening. Playing King, sun up and sun down, was turning out to be significantly more difficult than he had anticipated.

Loki gave a self-deprecating laugh as he turned into an empty hallway—oh, the irony! He had lusted for power, for the throne, and now that he had it—now that he sat in the very spot meant for the All-Father—he was disappointed. Why? Because the power he sought to possess lay in the illusion that he had placed upon himself. Because the deep respect that shone in the eyes of each passing Asgardian was for the King they saw, and not for the one beneath. And most importantly: the jokes and pleasantries and warmth that Thor shared with him were not truly for him, but for the father he believed he was speaking to.

He had wanted it, wanted it all. And now that he had it, he was hiding.

He wondered to himself. Was it worth it? That still moment in the Dark World, standing before the man who had once called himself Loki's father.

Had it been worth it, killing Odin?

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 **PLEASE REVIEW. Think of it like this: I will probably spend many hours of labour creating this story, so 1 minute to say "Good", "Bad", "Meh", etc. would be helpful. Of course, elaboration as to why it's "Bad" would also be helpful.**

 **Thanks!**

 **\- 100th Century**


	2. Friends, New and Old

**Hello! Okay, so, this update is coming a little earlier than I planned. It was part of a larger chapter, but I wanted to thank those of you who reviewed. And I want to thank MoonLightNinja for being my First Reviewer! So, this is my gift to you guys. The action will start in the next chapter-this chapter is more of a teaser, with a side dish of humour ;)**

 **I forgot to mention this in my A/N last chapter: I'm planning to be a little more faithful to the ending of The Blood of Olympus, The Avengers. This means that, among many other things, Tony's AI is now F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Percy and Annabeth are going to college in New Rome. Also, this story is set after Ultron, The Blood of Olympus, and Thor: The Dark World.**

 **Enjoy!**

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New Friends (sort of)

Thursday rolled around too quickly, and Percy soon found himself in the same situation as last time—Tony Stark was late. And it would once again be because of the paparazzi.

Interestingly enough, when Tony Stark walked into the studio, Clint Barton was close behind him, sans bags this time.

Percy looked at him curiously. Clint hadn't been very pleased to be forced to follow Tony around on Tuesday, so why ever would he choose to come back?

Clint caught Percy's look and spoke to him for the first time: "Doesn't hurt for an extra person to bear witness to Tony Stark's humiliation." He said with a small smile playing about his lips. Percy blinked in surprise—he'd entirely expected to hear an abnormally deep voice from the well-muscled man, but nope, it sounded rather normal.

Tony shot him a foul look. "I still can't believe it! You took advantage of me, you blackmailing son of—"

"Uh uh uh." Clint said, somehow immediately shutting Tony up. "Complete silence, remember?" He mocked, now grinning widely. The archer turned to Percy. "It's not blackmail, really. More of an agreement—he lets me watch his lessons, and I don't tell the rest of the team about them."

"That sounds a lot like blackmail." Percy said, but he was also grinning. He decided that despite his initial views of the archer being distant and unresponsive, he liked Clint. "How'd you get him to shut up?"

Tony frowned at him, clearly disliking the fact that one of his 'best friends' and his new fighting instructor were now ganging up on him.

Clint shrugged. "Easy, used the same threat—I mean, persuasion technique."

Percy whistled appreciatively. "Nice—I should have done that earlier."

"That's what you've got friends for—back up blackmailing techniques." Clint winked.

Friends? Clint Barton seemed like he could be a pretty good friend, Percy figured.

Tony gave an exaggerated sigh. "Are you two done, or are you going to keep bantering back and forth like a pair of chickens?"

"I'd rather be a dolphin." Percy said. Then he recalled all the threats that Dionysus had made against him over the years, and inwardly cringed, wishing he hadn't said that.

Clint looked thoughtful. "Hawk."

Percy snorted, remembering the name the man had within the Avengers. "Of course. How would you use your bow and arrows then?"

"Oh my god," Tony rubbed his temples. "Clint, if you needed a friend to ramble uselessly with, why didn't you tell me before?"

Percy and Clint just shared a grin, before Percy began the lesson.

It wasn't until they were well into the middle of the lesson, while learning basic hits and blocks, that Tony couldn't remain silent any longer. To be honest, Percy was surprised he managed to not speak for so long: Tony was a lot like Leo—he just couldn't stay **quiet**.

"So kid,—"

"Percy." His instructor corrected him, sighing as he also corrected his blocking technique again.

"You never told us anything about yourself. You're pretty quiet, actually." Tony said, as if he couldn't understand how.

Percy actually wasn't that quiet—he could be just as talkative and open as Tony, but with the billionaire rambling on and on last lesson, he could barely get a word in to teach the man properly. It also probably had to do with the fact that Annabeth had given him a stern talk after watching him teach his first class.

 _"This is a_ _ **job**_ _, Percy—you're their teacher, not their friend. You need to be mature, now—a professional. So the next time someone asks for private lessons in their own home, politely decline. Now go and tell Ms. Yale that you forgot you had a date with your girlfriend on Friday, and as a result, won't be able to give her a private lesson—now, or in the future." Annabeth had said, her voice hard and uncompromising and her eyes burning with a dark fire—grey and stormy, with a tinge of green._

 _Percy had swallowed, his head bobbing in compliance, and had quickly informed Ms. Yale of the unfortunate news, not bothering to point out to Annabeth that they hadn't in fact scheduled a date on Friday._

And from then on, so as to avoid being turned to stone by Annabeth's angry—and jealous (shhh)—glare, the people he taught became 'clients'. It was hard to stay formal and not crack a joke every so often, but hey, if that's what it took to be an adult—or at least appear to be more mature—then Percy was mostly fine with it. That being said, Clint was making it pretty hard not to start a good banter.

Percy shrugged. "My name's Percy. Not much else to add." His eyes narrowed. "Don't ball up your hands," he said to Tony for the dozenth time. "How are you supposed to fight properly if blocking an attack leaves you with broken fingers afterwards?"

"Wait until you've been in a bar fight." Tony grinned.

Percy suppressed another sigh. He was beginning to learn that much of what Tony said, no matter how interesting, was mostly useless and unimportant—and random. The billionaire flung around statements offhandedly, sarcastic one moment and borderline rude the next. Percy suddenly regretted comparing Leo to this man—at least Leo was predictable in his own hyper way, along with friendly and upbeat. Tony was just so . . . unsympathetic.

"Girlfriend?" Tony asked, unfisting his hands before shifting his feet slightly, moving him out of the perfect stance that Percy had so painstakingly set him up in. Percy groaned inwardly—by the gods, what was wrong with this man? Why couldn't he just listen to what he told him for once? True, he was used to working with kids who were natural born fighters, but still—how hard could it be to _stand properly_?

"Yes." Suddenly, Percy had an idea. He paused, should he? It came down to an issue of trust—did he trust Tony Stark enough to share this information with him? He decided to go with his gut—Tony may have appeared unsympathetic, but he cared. Sure, the logic didn't necessarily make sense, but then again, his logic rarely did. "Her name's Annabeth. She's actually trying to get a job working at the Aven—Stark Tower." Percy settled on 'Stark Tower', seeing as Tony still referred to the building using that name, despite the fact that the Battle of New York with the aliens had left only a giant "A" hanging on the side, thus effectively changing it to Avengers Tower.

Tony's interest was piqued. Unfortunately, this completely ruined whatever progress the man had made in his defensive stance as he straightened and his feet shifted. "Really? What kind of job?"

Percy shrugged. "Any, really. She just wants to get into Stark Industries, and then make her way through the company and find a position involving architecture. She's fascinated with architecture," Percy explained. "It's been her dream for . . . forever, actually." Percy really couldn't recall a time that Annabeth had wanted anything else. She was, of course, already the official architectural designer of Olympus, but making a name for herself in the mortal world was also something she really wanted.

He was also pretty sure that when she found out that he was trying to get a job for her, she wouldn't be happy. If there was one thing Annabeth disliked (among a hundred other things), it was dependence.

Tony nodded. "Sounds like the perfect candidate for a job that I've got open." He turned to Clint. "What was it . . . Room Designer?"

Clint looked at him, annoyed. "I'm not your butler—how the hell am I supposed to know?"

Tony shrugged, turning back to Percy. "I'm pretty sure it's Room Designer. It's not architecture yet, but it's the diving board that could take your girlfriend a lot further. Many of our levels are still a little bare after being reconstructed following that whole fiasco with Ultron, and I've been looking for someone with a clean background and a good resume to add some flair to them. I would do it myself but a billionaire doesn't have time for that."

Percy rolled his eyes at the same time as Clint. However, the job sounded promising. Percy nodded. "Thanks, I'll let her know." He caught the time and realized with a jolt of surprise that they had gone over—it was 5:13. He cursed, grabbing his bag, not even bothering to throw on a sweater this time, even though he hadn't sweat this lesson either. The last time he had been late for one of his lessons at Camp Half-Blood, he'd found his class in the middle of a full-fledged food fight.

"See you next week!" He called over his shoulder, dashing out of the studio.

* * *

 **Clint**

I watched, slightly amused, as the kid dashed out of the room, his bright green eyes (strangely reminding me of the sea) flashing me a goodbye before he fled down the street, hailing a taxi.

"Kid's gotta slow down and take a breather once in a while." He said, putting on his suit jacket and shoes. I shook my head.

"You can't fight in a dress shirt and dress pants." I said, stirring up the 3 day old argument.

Tony shrugged. "To each his own. At least I bother to be properly dressed." He tilted his head, thinking, the argument already disappearing from his mind. "I'm pretty sure I have a Room Designer job opening . . . I'll ask Pepper today."

I looked at him, slightly surprised. "You're actually going to help his girlfriend?" I'd thought he was just humoring Percy.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah—why not? I like the kid." And with that, he left the room, putting on his shades and a cap to hide his famous face.

I followed, pulling on a cap on my own head, unable to shake those eyes.

* * *

Percy's fears were confirmed when he arrived at Camp Half-Blood—under the guidance of the Stoll brothers, the petty feud that had started last week between the Ares and Aphrodite cabin had now blossomed into a full-blown war.

* * *

Connor and Travis looked on proudly as a small bandit of young Aphrodite kids lay siege to the Ares cabin, remaking the gory red appearance with the aid of several Demeter kids. One child of the love goddess who was in the process of weaving a love curse stepped on an innocent patch of dirt which promptly exploded, sending the unfortunate demigod screaming through the air before landing with an _oomph!_ 30 feet away— confirming the rumours that the Ares campers had indeed rerigged the ground surrounding their cabin with landmines after they'd all been set off a year ago in the final battle of the Second Giant War, which had been fought in the very grounds of Camp Half-Blood. The threat of landmines didn't stop the children of Demeter and Aphrodite, however. Hundreds of beautiful pink-blush flowers suddenly blossomed across the roof and barbed wire of the war god's cabin, as if summer had decided to drop in with full force for the smallest of moments before retreating again; the front of the cabin was engulfed in a cloud of the finest particles carrying the scent of jasmine, lavender, and . . . love potion.

Several young Ares campers, watching as one of their siblings accidently took a whiff of the spiked perfume and became starry-eyed, roared with outrage and charged the Aphrodite cabin, ready to tear down the pink and perfect doll-like house.

. . . 50 feet away . . . the Ares campers gave war cries . . .

. . . 40 feet away . . . the defenses of the Aphrodite cabin kicked in, spraying out sleeping potion disguised in perfume . . .

. . . 30 feet away . . . the perfume-potion barely slowed the Ares kids, who were hot-headed with passion . . .

. . . 20 feet away, the children of Ares raised their weapons, seconds away from destroying the pink monstrosity, foul words spewing from their lips as—

The charging mass of curse-spewing, foot-thudding, sword-clashing children of war skidded and staggered to a halt as a black-haired boy seemed to suddenly appear between the Ares kids and their prey amidst the clamour and frenzy.

The Ares children didn't even dare to breath even as their hearts hammered away in the sudden silence. They swallowed in unison, realizing the demigod who stood before them.

The silence thickened as the demigod slashed down his hand, breaking off the perfume defense mechanisms of the Aphrodite cabin behind him.

Then one boy broke the silence. Everybody watched with growing morbid horror as the love potion-afflicted Ares child approached the very silent and still demigod and without any warning, took the demigod's face in his hands and said, very seriously, "Percy Jackson, I love you", before promptly kissing the Hero of Olympus upon the lips.

* * *

 **Suggestions are welcome (I know, I sound like a broken tape recorder)-I won't necessarily integrate them into my story or follow them, but I** ** _will_** **read them, and if I like/agree with the suggestion, than I'll make sure to include it and give credit where its due.**

 **So, please Review-let me know how the story is.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Br0kenThOrn : Are you planning on having Percy and his friends meet and team up with other Characters that can appear in the MCU and the Marvel Netflix Universe /** _Yup! That's the plan. Perhaps not all of the MCU characters-but definitely a few of the key ones._

 **Guest: Good /** _Thank you!_

 _ **Nobody: Great! Can you make fury a legacy of nemesis? I think that if the reason for the serums that Natasha, Steve, Bucky, and fury have working properly is because they were stabilized and enhanced by immortal ichor ? P.s some of them can be unclaimed. I suggest doing a Reyna/Steve pairing, since both of them are quite similar when you look closely. /**_ _Because I'm planning to stay faithful to the MCU universe and its plot line, I most likely will not have legacies or unclaimed demigods among the Avengers. The Renya/Steve pairing sounds interesting however-I'll definitely keep it in mind and maybe you'll see it pop up somewhere ;)_

 **MoonLightNinja: Great first start! I loved this beginning and the way you portrayed percy, tony, and Clint. The humor was spot on. A very successful progress. Although I didn't really see any bad here is a tip: your explanations for anything HAVE to be believeable and seem real. Anyway good job and keep on updating! /** _First off, thank you so much for being my First Reviewer! And in response to your review:Thank you! And phew-it's nice to know that I'm capable of some humour! Yup-that's one of my key goals whenever I write stories-believability is Essential. Please let me know if my story ever starts becoming unreal._

 **sbayless44: Good, I look forward to future chapters. /** _And I look forward to creating them!_


	3. The Worst of Bad Ideas

**My notes before and after each chapter are packed with IMPORTANT INFORMATION, so please take the time to read them.**

 **Hi! To all those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed my story: THANK YOU. Those two words really can't capture how much emotion and thanks that I'm attempting to convey right now, but they'll have to do. Especially those who have reviewed** _—_ **you guys are giving good reviews, and they're amusing, gratifying, and enlightening to read.**

 **This is to all interested readers: TheAdaptableWriter suggested in their (I know that's grammatically incorrect** ** _—_** **please ignore it) review that I include a SYOC, which I'm assuming stands for "Suggest Your Own Character" (please let me know if this is wrong** _—_ **I'm still learning terms). It's an interesting idea, and I've decided to give it a go. I honestly don't know how this is supposed to work, so advice and suggestions are encouraged. I think I may also develop Jesse as an OC** _—_ **Jesse is the demigod who kissed Percy in the last chapter. He may simply be a supporting/background character** _—_ **I'm not really sure at this point. NOTE: I will read all suggestions for OCs, but I won't necessarily use it unless it fits reasonably within the story. Just a heads up-I don't want to create any false expectations.**

 **Br0kenThOrn brought up a key point in their (yes, grammatically incorrect) review, and I'd like all readers to know my response.** **Br0kenThOrn: Please I know you want to stay close to the MCU canon but I speak for a lot of people who would love to see Percy and his friends interact with the Twins /** _I mentioned in my A/N in chapter two that I would be staying faithful to the endings of the Avengers: Age of Ultron, and that I would be including several key character from the MC Universe. To clear up any confusion: this means that not only will the avengers be involved, but also Vision, Wanda, etc.—all of the additional team members that the Avengers picked up at the ending of the movie. I do not know yet whether Pietro will be alive in my story or not-I am aware that some fanfictions do keep him alive. This does not mean, however, that I'm going to try to do what I think Marvel is going to do in their future movies—what I come up with is my take on the events. I'm simply starting off according to how the latest movies ended._

* * *

The Worst of Bad Ideas (Stoll-style)

Connor Stoll was leaning heavily on a tree, watching from a distance as his body shook with suppressed laughter and tears of mirth rolled down his face. Percy was blinking several times, attempting to understand why Jesse, a 13 year old child of Ares, had just courted and kissed him. Then realization seemed to dawn on his face as he took a whiff of the love potion that laced the boy's clothing and skin.

Travis wasn't much better than his brother. In fact, he had fallen and was currently rolling on the ground, holding his stomach as he howled with laughter, not bothering to attempt to stay quiet. "Did, you see, his face?" He gasped, tears streaming down his face, he was laughing so hard.

Connor nodded, wiping tears out of his own eyes. "Wait until Annabeth hears of this."

Travis broke into a new howl of laughter.

"PERCY JACKSON!"

Travis' laughter ended in a strangled choke at the sound of the furious voice and Connor straightened, his amusement suddenly ebbing away as he realized the owner of the shout. _Oh, damn Hermes' wings . . ._ The scene unfolding before him should have been hilarious, but like his brother, he had a bad feeling that things had just taken a turn for the worse.

Annabeth Chase stormed towards her boyfriend, the crowd of silent and young demigods hastily parting before her. She came to a stop right in front of Percy, her hard eyes taking in Jesse's glazed stare and slurred confessions of love, along with Percy's own stammered explanation.

She seemed to come to a conclusion and turned around, her piercing stare scrutinizing the destruction around her—the sabotaged Ares cabin, the ground strewn with chunks of dirt and crushed petals, and the wild-eyed campers—before landing securely on the Stoll brothers, like an owl that had just found its prey.

* * *

Unable to endure the painful scene before them any longer, several Ares kids grabbed ahold of their sibling, who continued to profess his love to Perseus Jackson, and dragged him away, his babbling quickly melting to silence in the distance. Meanwhile, Annabeth began stalking towards Connor and Travis, her stormy gaze pinning them in place.

"Wanna bet?" Connor asked his brother nervously.

Travis shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Bro, totally not the time."

The two often bet who would escape punishment for their latest prank (despite the fact that they usually both escaped, hiding out in the forest or the Hermes cabin until the homicidal tendencies of their victims faded away). This time, however, watching as the senior camper made her way to the brothers (the growing crowd of onlookers giving her a wide berth) escape didn't seem to be included in the equation.

Travis just hoped that Annabeth was in a merciful mood.

* * *

Even as Annabeth stopped before the Stoll brothers, the crowd was suddenly dispersing under Jason's threat of a month of washing dishes and Piper's calm, lilting voice. The two had been watching from the sidelines, rather amused with the turn of events, but now seeing the severity of Annabeth's face they wisely decided to clear the area.

Connor swallowed again, not able to look into those voids of grey. Man, he'd forgotten how she got that murderous glint in her eyes sometimes.

Travis didn't dare breathe. All his instincts screamed at him: _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

Finally, Connor couldn't stand the silence anymore and broke. "Oh, come on, Annabeth—it was a harmless joke! Just a little friendly fight—we're all family right?" He asked nervously.

Annabeth trained her full gaze on him and whatever else Connor had been about to say died in his throat.

"I moved out of Camp because I thought that I was leaving it in good hands." Annabeth began, no emotion in her voice. That only made it worse. "I'm gone, for _one_ month—a single month—and this is what it comes to. You're supposed to be the role models—not the children!" Now there was emotion. Displeasure. Irritation. Very Severe Irritation. "You're lucky no one was severely hurt." She said as two Apollo kids helped a boy to the infirmary, where he would be treated for minor burns and scrapes after having triggered the landmine.

Travis watched the three walk away before returning his gaze to Annabeth. "Woah, hey—it's not like we were the ones who put those landmines in the ground in the first—"

Annabeth silenced Travis with a glare. "I will speak to Clarisse later. I'm talking to you to right _now_. You think that a bunch of barely teenage kids might miraculously stay unharmed when they're all handling weapons?" She started to shake. "That exploding landmines and sleeping potion are just a "harmless joke"? You think this air," she waved a hand around, anger now evident in her voice, "might just trigger an asthma attack?" She seemed on the verge of snarling. Annabeth never snarled.

Realization dawned on Travis and Connor's terrified faces—now they understood why Annabeth was acting up when she usually just brushed off their pranks with a brief threat or warning. She wasn't jealous about Percy having another lover or annoyed that things had gotten out of hand—she was worried about Percy's health. While Annabeth's asthma was all but gone, Percy's was not. And with the air laden with sweet and potent fragrances, the risk of an asthma attack was elevated.

However, Percy looked fine, and he hurried over in an attempt to keep the situation civil. "Annabeth, it's okay, I'm fine. They didn't—"

"Quiet." Annabeth snapped. She turned back to the Stoll brothers, about to tear them apart.

"Annab—"

Annabeth growled. "Percy, I said—"

"Annabeth!" Percy grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards him, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'm _fine_."

Annabeth's eyes flared with an unknown emotion, and Connor and Travis took that as their cue to leave as quiet as humanly (or perhaps half-bloodedly?) possible.

* * *

Loki stood in the middle of the king's chambers— _his_ chambers, lost deep in his thoughts.

He could remember the day clearly, even though it had happened over two years ago. Returning from his battle against the Kursed and standing before Odin, disguised as one of Asgard's many warriors. He had been rattled, after that battle. Faking his death in front of Thor. . . it had been far harder than he expected, nearly more than he could bear. Catching the look in his brother's eyes, the plea in his voice, he had truly been on the verge of casting off his illusion of death and blood, and crying to Thor, "I am sorry!" and embracing him. He ached for that embrace—the one they so often shared as children.

After the battle on Midgard with the Chitauri and Avengers, he'd thought it lost and broken—the bond between he and his brother. However, hearing Thor's anguished howls when he'd seemingly died proved that he still cared for him.

And returning to Asgard and standing before Odin, hidden beneath his illusion, he had wanted to do something. To take something from Odin, to see some hint of an emotion besides disappointment and disgust.

With a plan forming in his mind, he had stepped towards the king. "Forgive me my liege—I've returned from the Dark World with news."

Odin had looked at him, his eyes empty and his face haggard. At the time, the king had lost Frigga, his wife, only a few days before, and his son, Thor, was committing the highest form of treason while in Loki's company, one of Asgard's greatest disappointments and traitors. There were many rumours that the All-Father's health was failing, and that, soon, he would fall into an Odinsleep from which he would never wake. Any other person would have sympathized and wept for the king, but not Loki—he only seethed with black hate. They should have protected Mother—they should not have kept him boxed up in that damned prison, utterly unable to help her. That day ate into his mind, then and now—he had guided the Kursed, unknowingly aided the beast that would soon kill Frigga. Never would he forgive himself.

"Thor?" Odin asked, his voice low.

"There's no sign of Thor, or the weapon, but . . ." Loki had hesitated. _What should he choose to do?_

"What?"

 _He knew what to do._ "We found a body."

At that moment, Odin looked into his eyes, and he feared briefly that the old king was seeing right through his illusion _._ But no, it was not confusion or deep thought that reflected within Odin's eyes—it was a flicker of grief. A black void of grief so deep that Hel itself would not have been able to contain it.

"Loki." Odin released the name on the softest of breaths.

Loki, still disguised as a guard, nodded, the flicker of grief he had seen shocking him into silence for several precious seconds. Then, "Yes, All-Father."

Odin stood up suddenly. Gungnir, his spear, was grasped tightly in his right hand. It was a powerful weapon, but at the moment, it seemed as if the king was leaning upon it heavily, like an old man would with a cane. "Show me." He demanded. "Show me his body."

Loki bowed his head obediently, and the two went to the stables and crossed the Bifröst Bridge on horseback, making their way to the Observatory. When they got there, they found it empty but for two guards who bowed upon seeing the king—Heimdall was absent, currently preparing to stand trial for his crime of treason against Odin and Asgard for aiding Thor. Odin inserted Gungnir into the slot where Heimdall's massive broadsword usually stood, and the Bifrost came alive, colors swirling together to create a portal that would take them to Svartalfheim —the Dark World.

Odin took Gungnir out of the slot and together, the two of them were sucked into the portal. Light streaked past them for the smallest division of a second before they arrived on the dusty and dead dirt of the Dark World, barren mountains and an eternal eclipse the only scenery around them.

Not 20 feet forward was a body.

Odin lurched forward, seeming to lean ever more heavily on his spear as he neared it. When he was not a foot away, he fell to his knees, the smallest of sounds escaping him. A sound of grief. Gungnir lay on the ground, forgotten and disregarded.

Loki, standing behind Odin, swallowed, this second unexpected display of grief for the day catching him by surprise.

With a flash of green light, the body suddenly disappeared.

Odin did not move, did not rise from his position of vulnerability. "Loki."

Loki's face twisted into a sneer. "Father." The word was filled with loathing and derision.

Odin rose and turned to face his son. "What are you doing, Loki? What do you hope to accomplish?"

"What can you imagine, _All-Father_?" Loki mocked. With his illusion gone, he was back in his traditional black clothing with green and gold accents, his old pair of daggers grasped tightly in his hands.

"Only that you loathe me to an extent that I cannot comprehend." In Odin's eyes was a pained expression. "My son—"

"I—am not—YOUR SON!" Loki roared. He leapt forward, his daggers flashing dangerously as they plunged downwards.

Gungnir flew towards Odin, but it was too late—a violent flash of emerald energy sent the spear careening away and out of reach even as Loki lashed out at the man that he once called Father, his blades turning away at the last second so that it was the hilt of the daggers that slammed into Odin's head.

"I WAS **NEVER** YOUR SON!" Loki bellowed at him, shaking with the hottest anger he had ever experienced. It coursed through his veins, raking his insides with burning iron claws. "It was always Thor! He was your pride, your first born!" Loki spat as he towered over him, hatred blackening his words. "All I ever wanted to be was his equal. All I wanted was your approval—your . . . your . . ." No, he could not say it. _Love._

Odin struggled to his knees, blood running down one side of his face while black sand coated the other. He looked like he had aged a century in those few short moments, his face gaunt and his eye . . . his eye weeping.

Loki watched, stunned, as a single tear trickled out of the corner of the king's one remaining eye, making its way down the many streams and tributaries of his wrinkled and wizened face.

"You will always be my son, Loki." Odin whispered hoarsely. "You will always have my love. You—"

A rage overtook him at that moment. What it was, Loki would never be able to recall for the rest of his life. There was a scream, a white flare of energy and—

Silence.

And then Loki was falling to his own knees, his ears ringing, his daggers falling out of his limp hands, his eyes staring at the prone body that lay sprawled across the black sand of the Dark World.

Tears leaked out of his eyes, unbidden. A single question screamed in his mind, demanding to be answered.

 _Why?_

 _. . ._

Loki resurfaced from the memory, disorientated. He felt something on his face and lightly touched his cheek, blinking as his fingers came away wet.

A tear? He blinked again. A _tear_?

He snarled in sudden frustration, throwing emerald magic at the walls that shattered upon impact. No more! He was finished with grieving. That man meant nothing to him, and never would.

He sat down heavily on his bed, determined to turn his mind elsewhere.

There were more important matters to think upon. Every Asgardian knew what arose from Odin's death, and as he had . . . killed him, more than two years ago, it would soon be upon them. For the last two years, people had complained of the lengthening season of winter and the earlier arrival and lingering remnants of cold temperatures, blissfully unaware of the true cause for them. Loki knew it would not be long before the rest came. And what followed after that . . . he could only hope, for the sake of the Nine Realms, that the Infinity Stones would be able to stop it.

* * *

 ***"playing Norn" - playing with fate**

 **Some tips for those who** **DON'T HAVE A FANFICTION ACCOUNT** **, but who read stories on Fanfiction. When I didn't have a fanfiction account, but was following a lot of stories, it was a bit of a hassle** _—_ **I created a list of the stories that I was reading, and checked every single one of them everyday. TIP 1: If you're reading stories from a small fandom (I hope I'm using that word correctly), like the Percy Jackson/Avengers crossover fandom** _—_ **which has about 358 stories (a relatively small number), then you can "Filter" (it's an actual button on Fanfiction when going through stories) stories and order them according to their "Update Date". Because there aren't many stories in the Percy Jackson/Avengers fandom, the number of stories updated each day is relatively low, and by filtering the stories by the Update Date, you'll see the most recently updated stories** _—_ **if your story isn't among them, then it hasn't updated, pure and simple. It lets you avoid having to check each story individually. If you already knew this, or don't really care, then I apologize for that very long explanation. Alternative TIP 2: You could get a Fanfiction account, and no** _—_ **I'm not meaning to promote Fanfiction in any way. I'm promoting a better and easier method to keeping track of stories. By getting a Fanfiction account, you can follow a story** _—_ **following a story will send you alerts whenever the story has been updated.**

 **Please, Review. I joined Fanfiction and started writing this story for two reasons: One, because I've got too many ideas in my head and I need to write them. Two, because I've been writing for many years now, but Fanfiction actually provides me with the opportunity to receive criticism, and thus improve my writing skills. So I really do need those reviews** _—_ **otherwise I can never improve.**

 **Think of it this way (especially those who followed or favourited this story): You enjoy reading my story (I assume). Well, I enjoy reading reviews-they're informative and helpful. So, take those 20 seconds to 1 minute (or more, or less, depending on what you write) to type something in the box RIGHT BELOW this chapter. Be it a thought, a reflection, an insight, a critical review, your reaction, a suggestion, a question** ** _—_** **I welcome them all.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Guest: This is such a good story and I really hope you'll update soon! I'm actually crying in laughing so hard :) /** _Perfect—that means I'm doing something right :)_

 **MoonLightNinja: OMG that last line was Absolutely hilarious! What bad timing for percy LOL. I hope annabeth doesn't kill percy when she finds out. Anyway great story i look forward to next update (a lot). /** _Thank you! I know—the poor kid never gets a break ;) And you'll see that it's not only Percy who has to fear Annabeth's reaction . . ._

 **Guest 567: HAHA!I'd think it would be hilarious if he looked at the Aphrodite campers and said "what did you do to him". /** _Unfortunately, I didn't have Percy saying this—however, I hope that what he (and Annabeth) does is suitable :) Let me know what you think._

 **ColdMilkLover: Love this story so far. I wonder what Percys going to do. Keep up the good work. /** _Thank you very much!_

 **beazlerat: Wow, I did not expect that. This is an awesome story so far, and I am really excited for the next chapter. /** _It was fun to write—hope you like it!_

 **Bobby-Penndragon: This story is starting out very well in my opinion alot of people start the story where its like "oh look threat, oh hey percy meet avengers, save world." I like where your story is going so far and no matter how it continues i will continue to read it. /** _Your investment in my writing is definitely awesome to hear—thank you! I try to keep it original, and I like to have a strong foundation to work off of, so the story may progress slower in comparison to other stories. Hopefully, it doesn't get boring—please let me know if it does._

 **Guest: Awesome Story! XD please continue! I couldn't stop laughing. The poor demigod... /** _I know—even I felt a little pity while writing it._

 **Nobody: Steve and Reyna both have impenetrable armor(aegis, shield),throwing themselves on bombs(exploding arrow, fake grenade), going against authority(Octavian, you name it, he's done it), amnesiac best friends/partners ( Nico, Bucky(who are also quite alike)), being leaders(praetor, captain) and lie detecting friends(aurum and Argentum, Natasha) I suggest reading 'agents' as it is a good fanfic /** _Huh, I never made those connections before—I haven't read any fanfictions with the two as a couple. Thanks—I'll read it and get back to you!_

 **LeknaWorshipper: AHHH VERY GOOD CHAP, next chapter please?/ /** _Thank you—hope you like chapter 3!_

 **TheAdaptableWriter: This is a very different twist on all of the other Avengers fics that I read. Instead of a Second Trojan War or a Heroes and Ghosts, it's more of a settle down type of fic. I like it a lot. Definitely need to keep an eye in this in the future. Few questions, is there going to be a war with Percy and the Avengers? I feel like you're setting it up so there will be a battle with Percy and the Avengers fighting a common enemy. Secondly, and lastly, will there be a SYOC? I feel like it would be both good to see you involving us more with the story, in terms if oc's, maybe we can submit demigod OC's or othe heroes. Keep up the good work!** **Yours Truly, TheAdaptableWriter /** _Yeah, there's significantly less action in the beginning. I wasn't sure how readers would take it, but it's great to hear that you like it! Fortunately/Unfortunately, the action will be starting in this chapter—however, I hope to still have moments similar to the first two chapters. A little bit of comic relief :) There will be a war, and Percy and the rest of his demigod friends will be joining forces with the Avengers. I hope to avoid the typical story line, however, so let me know if the story ever starts to become unoriginal. I'm still learning new terms—I know OC is "own character" so I would extrapolate and say that SYOC is "suggest your own character" . . . ? Either I just made a fool of myself, or I got it right. If I did, great! I thought about what you've said, and it sounds interesting. I wasn't originally going to involve my own characters, but I'll give it a go with Jesse. If you have an idea for an OC, let me know and I'll consider it!_

 **Samie Goode: pls oohh pls update really soon, can't wait to see what happen next, like annebeth getting the job and maybe coming to the next learn percy has with tony and what percy dose about the fight at camp and that kiss /** _You got your wish! You'll have to wait a little longer for the Annabeth/Job at Tower, however. Sorry :(_

 **Hooded007: i favorited this story earlier today and you've already updated! lol i really enjoyed these first 2 chapters and I'm looking forward to the ones that follow!** _Yup, I'm updating rather quickly. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter as well!_

 **sankrisid23: Oh my god I freaking love this. This is absolutely hilarious and amazingly well written! Please please PLEASE update again soon. I can't wait to read more! /** _Thank you! That's gratifying to know—I hope you like the new chapter!_

 **Kait: This was great! Will you be posting another chapter? /** _Here it is! Sorry for not responding to you in the second chapter—your update literally came right after I had posted my second chapter with all of my responses to reviews._


	4. Regrets of a Hermes Trickster

**Hi! (PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING A/N—LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO, RIGHT?)**

 **Some of you might be thinking: this isn't the story I've been following . . . But yes, it is! Reactions to the new and (hopefully) improved title and summary? A big thank you goes out to Lizaloves for giving me the tips and encouragement needed to change them! The title may still change, however, and I'm playing around with the cover picture. To be forward, the title was actually "Fall . . . Fall Through Tears and Fall Through Laughter" but the format didn't allow for the ". . ."**

 **I should have made this promise in the first chapter, but I'll make it now: Unless I'm dead or physically/mentally/emotionally cannot write anything, I won't stop writing this story until the very last chapter. I promise. I've read too many fanfiction stories that were suddenly abandoned or put on hiatus permanently—it puts you off, and it's unbelievably frustrating, though some authors do have good and understandable excuses. I won't put you guys through that.**

 **I plan for updates to come at least once every week. However, I am updating a little faster than that at the moment.**

 **Responses to reviews are now on the bottom, per request of a reviewer. Hopefully it makes this story easier to read for some of you. Also, only reviews that require a response will be responded to—however, I am very grateful to all that reviewed. THANK YOU!**

 **This is the longest chapter yet—enjoy!**

* * *

Regrets of a Hermes Trickster

Chiron stood by the entrance to the infirmary, watching as several Apollo campers tended to the demigods injured by the recent fight between the Ares and Aphrodite cabins. It was fortunate that he had had the foresight to persuade Clarisse to change their landmines to non-lethal shock grenades shortly after the war last year. Otherwise, they would have been preparing to burn burial shrouds at a pyre instead of marshmallows at the camp fire.

It was difficult. To keep watch over such a group as this—nearly two hundred children, and ranks swelling larger with each passing year, whose powers and abilities were passed down to them from the very gods. Not to mention the naiads, satyrs, and the other wild spirits who, though they were not his responsibility, had certainly become very dear to him.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he wished it nor how much he tried, he could not shield them from harm forever. He was ultimately a guide and advisor, no more and no less. So when the children had rashly dived into a fight with their own siblings . . . _Well,_ he had thought, _let them learn_.

It was no different from any of his other students over the past centuries. He did not stop nor encourage Achilles when the young man told him he would dip himself in the Styx, did not place himself before Peracles when the hotheaded demigod challenged an Amazon to a duel, did not prevent the Stoll brothers from carrying out their many tricks and pranks—he could only stand to the side as his students accomplished their many deeds, some questionable or courageous, others heroic and foolish. It was his curse, even as he had the blessed fortune to mentor the children of Olympus.

* * *

 _"Annabeth!" Percy grabbed her shoulders and turned towards her, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'm fine."_

 _Annabeth's eyes flared with an unknown emotion, and Connor and Travis took that as their cue to leave as quiet as humanly (or perhaps half-bloodedly?) possible._

Annabeth punched Percy in the gut. She couldn't stop herself. All she could think was how horrible it was each time Percy had an asthma attack, and her worry automatically turned into anger. It didn't matter that Will had managed to provide them with quick relief asthma inhalers that they carried on their person at all times. It didn't matter that Percy's asthma was almost gone. It didn't even matter that Percy taught sword-fighting classes and could just as easily suffer an asthma attack during then as much as now. All that mattered was that the heavy aromas in the air reminded her of the heavy acrid fumes of Tartarus. All that mattered was that she didn't want to see Percy kneeling on the ground again, his hand to his chest, wheezing, as if each breath was an enormous task, his body shaking as if he were still carrying the burden of the sky. She didn't want to feel as helpless as she had then, stuck in that moment of terrible fear.

Percy didn't even complain about the unprovoked attack. He simply pulled her into an embrace, despite the fact that she glared at him and tried to push him away. Finally, tired of resisting and weary of her worry, she leaned against him, savoring the shelter that his arms provided.

"I'm fine, Annabeth, I'm fine." Percy kept repeating.

She didn't know how long they stood like that, leaning into one another's embrace, but she was stiff by the time she leaned away.

"Percy . . ."

"I know." And he did seem to know. Ironically, there were moments when the only person who understood her perfectly was her boyfriend—this child who had stumbled into her life, and who annoyed her every chance he was given. He _understood_.

"You know," He started conversationally. "Those weren't land mines. That kid would be dead if they were."

Annabeth sighed. "I know. It's just . . ." She had been worried. And things seemed to become twisted and grotesquely larger when she worried.

"I know." Percy said again.

Wordlessly, the two started towards the arena, where Percy taught his sword-fighting classes. When they got there, they found—to their surprise—that Connor and Travis had already started the class for Percy, teaching the kids an underhanded striking technique.

Noticing Percy and Annabeth approaching, the Stoll brothers turned away from the class, stopping before the couple. For possibly the first time in all the years that either Percy and Annabeth had known them, the two brothers looked remorseful.

"Percy—"

"Don't worry about it, guys." Percy waved away their apologies. "You weren't out to intentionally harm me, or anyone. It was just an accident, nothing else. Us bros have to stick together, yeah?" Percy asked when he saw that the two still couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

Connor managed a weak grin. "Yeah."

"Sorry, man." Travis said, shaking his head.

The three hugged, slapping each other on the backs and laughing before the Stoll brothers departed the arena, the stormy glare burning into their backs clearly telling them that Percy could forgive them, and they could do a century's worth of favours for him, but Annabeth was far from ready to exonerate them for their crime.

* * *

Annabeth stayed with Percy for a small part of the lesson, scrutinizing the class before her, noting flaws, and calling out to Henry, a child of Hypnos, to keep his eyes open.

"No problem." He slurred, before slumping on the ground again, his wide yawn causing everybody within a 10-foot radius to also yawn.

"Maybe he'll practice fighting in his dreams." Percy joked, stifling a yawn himself. He wondered if he should tell Annabeth about the potential job that Tony might soon be offering, but then thought better of it—better for it to be a surprise, and besides, he didn't want to raise her hopes unnecessarily. Even though it was only the middle of July, Percy had to keep school in mind—once September came around, they would be attending college in New Rome, and at that point, he wasn't sure how Annabeth would be able to work at the Avengers Tower and still go to school. Maybe there was some kind of branch of Stark Industries in California . . . _Wait, didn't Tony mention that the headquarters of Stark Industries was in Los Angeles?_ But, Percy was pretty sure Los Angeles was a little far from San Francisco, where Camp Jupiter was located. He'd have to check later.

He shook his head at Henry again. All of the children from all of the cabins were expected to learn how to fight—it was an unwritten rule, but an important one. Unfortunately, some just couldn't—like those from the Hypnos cabin. Henry, however, had been adamant about wanting to learn how to wield a sword—or at least, as adamant as a Hypnos kid could be, with all the yawning and heavy eyelids. However, it looked like sleeping had taken first priority once again.

An Ares child picked Henry up with surprising gentleness and carried him over to the side of the arena, where they had set up a small temporary oasis of blankets and pillows for these exact circumstances.

"Maybe we could ask the Hecate kids to brew some kind of energy potion . . ." Annabeth trailed off in thought.

"That would be awesome." Percy agreed rather enthusiastically.

Annabeth frowned. "Really?"

"Umm, yeah. I mean, why not? The Hypnos kids could learn how to fight, and it's not like the potion would be used for anything else, of course." Percy tried for a reassuring smile. He had a feeling it came out looking more like a grin. Seeing the look on his girlfriend's face, he wisely decided not to tell her how he was currently imagining how high he would be able to command the waves by the beach if he had such an energy potion.

Annabeth's eyes narrowed. "Just remember, I'm watching you, Percy . . ." She gave him one more doubtful look before turning around. She had an Ancient Greek lesson to teach at the new commons pavilion that had been built by the Athena cabin.

"Aren't you always?" Percy called after her. He heard his girlfriend scoff, throwing over her shoulder a "You wish!" and he grinned before turning back to find his young class staring.

"Get a room." One Ares kid said.

"Or an apartment." Her half-sister added.

"Already have one. Now, I want to see forty more executions of the disarming technique."

Everybody groaned, staring daggers at the pair of Ares siblings.

The young demigods all paired up, and under the watchful eye of Percy, attempted to disarm their opponent.

Percy circled around, getting involved every now and then to give advice or to correct a mistake. He noticed that Jesse wasn't there. That was to be expected—either the love potion had yet to wear off, or the demigod was back to his lucid self and had decided to never show his face again. Percy made himself a mental reminder to talk to him later.

The day was still nice—the evening sun cast drooping shadows and a sugar-sweet aroma came from the strawberry fields. Viewing his class, Percy thanked the gods for the odd nature of his asthma—he couldn't imagine it: never fighting, again? As much as he hated the wars, he didn't hate the friendly battles he had on a day-to-day basis. To have to put down Riptide for good . . .

And once again, he cursed Tartarus in his daily ritual of spewing insults at the damned pit for everything it had done to him. The occasional nightmare he could handle—but asthma? Sure, he didn't have an attack every day—it was more an "on and off" thing that came without warning. Random attacks that seemed to have no logical triggers for them. As a result, Annabeth's reaction to the prank of the Stoll brothers had not been without merit—with anything having the potential to be a trigger, it was better to be safe than sorry. That's what had scared Percy the most in the beginning when the attacks had been more frequent—the fact that this asthma was unpredictable, and that he could be doing _anything_ and the next moment, he could be dropping to the ground, suddenly unable to suck in enough oxygen to just _breathe._

Interestingly enough, very rarely did actual "strenuous activity", as Will put it, appear to trigger an attack.

He remembered it—clear as day, despite the fact that it'd been a year ago. The moment Will Solace, senior counsellor of the Apollo cabin and the best medic in Camp Half-Blood, had diagnosed him and Annabeth with asthma. It'd been after all the hype had died down after defeating Gaea—the Romans had returned to California and the cabins were partway through their post-war renovations. He and Annabeth had snuck out of their cabins one night, managing to evade the curfew harpies, and had rendezvoused at the beach. They were talking quietly, Annabeth laughing at his jokes, when the attack had struck Annabeth from seemingly out of nowhere. Not knowing what was happening, he'd honestly thought she was going to die and had burst into the Apollo cabin smackdab in the middle of the night, yelling at the top of his lungs for help.

Only for Annabeth to roll out of his arms and land unsteadily on her feet, telling him for what seemed to her the hundredth time that she was _fine_ , just a little out of breath.

Definitely not one of Percy's finer moments. But in his defense, it had been terrifying.

That was when Will decided to give them a full physical, convinced that they couldn't have escaped from Tartarus unscathed. Discovering that they had asthma . . . well, let's just say they still had the whole Apollo cabin baffled—two seemingly healthy demigods with no history of respiratory problems suddenly developing asthma, sound stranger to anyone?—and it was made odder by the fact that Nico had returned from Tartarus sans health problems—that anyone knew of, anyhow. They eventually concluded that it had been the foul air of the Pit, and that with enough time spent breathing in clean air, the asthma would eventually dissipate.

 _And we were right_ , Percy thought as he gave a quick demonstration to a Hecate child to improve his balance. He usually didn't have more than one per month, and this month, he hadn't had any yet. Annabeth's had all but disappeared, as well. Thank the gods—her asthma attacks frightened the Hades out of Percy.

To see Annabeth gasping for air . . . Percy could understand why Annabeth was reacting the way she was towards the Stoll brothers.

"—you even listening to me? Prissy? PERCY."

Percy felt a stinging blow to his face and stumbled back, blinking rapidly to find Clarisse—an annoyed Clarisse, one feels obligated to note—standing a few feet before him.

Normally, Clarisse would probably also have her sword out, ready to impale him out of sheer anger. But at the moment, despite the annoyance that flashed across her face, there was concern in the crease of her brow and in her dark eyes.

Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm fine—slapping me was a little unnecessary."

Clarisse nodded and then her usual smirk rose on her face as she turned to his silent, and watching, class. "Well, it looks like it's going to be an easy fight today newbies!" (Despite the fact that the newest demigod present had been at camp for a good 5 months).

Already the young demigods were whispering quietly among themselves, shaking hands and trading bets as to who would win in the upcoming fight.

It had become a ritual, since Percy had become an instructor of some of the beginner sword fighting classes (as well as some of the master's sword fighting classes), to end each lesson with a friendly spar with another camper—usually Clarisse, Annabeth, or Nico. Or Jason. Or Piper. Really—any senior camper would do. Except Leo. After prohibiting him from using some of his toys in the spar (Celestial netting made for capturing goddesses and the Archimedes sphere, among other items), and following that incident with the Greek fire grenade . . . well, the child of Hephaestus had effectively been banned from future spars, to the indignation of said demigod and the disappointment of spectators.

As Chiron put rather simply: "Leo, my boy, if you wish to put on a demonstration for a sword fighting class, please ensure that only _swords_ are involved."

Nevertheless, the spars gave the demigods—his students, Percy supposed, though he could hardly imagine himself to be a teacher—inspiration to train hard. And of course, Clarisse loved them because it gave her plenty of opportunities to pummel Percy, or at least try to.

Despite her usual attitude, however, things had changed between Percy and Clarisse. The daughter of Ares wasn't any kinder to Percy, nor any less rude or intimidating to younger campers, but somehow, Percy could now call her 'friend'. At some point in the last few years, her snarky remarks had become friendly, even though the words themselves hadn't changed, and her blunt comments were now comforting, even though they were as insulting as they had been 6 years ago.

"Get ready to be skewered." Clarisse smirked, extending her electric sword and pointing it at Percy. The weapon, along with a matching electric spear that was currently around her wrist in the form of a red bracelet portraying the carving of a fiery boar, was a gift from her father to replace a celestial bronze sword and yet another broken electric spear; following the Second Giant War, there was a week-long celebratory party hosted on Olympus, to which both the Greeks and the Romans were invited. The gods were, understandably, in a good mood, and many demigods returned to Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter laden with gifts from their parents.

Except the children of Apollo, of course. The sun god was missing from the festivities, sparking many rumours and varying degrees of concern among the demigods. On one hand, many (that is to say, all) of them were relieved that they would not have to hear another haiku. On the other, many feared what had befallen the god—it was not like him to miss a party. The last time any of the demigods had seen Apollo was in Athens, following the battle in which the Seven defeated the giants with the aid of the gods. Zeus had ordered Apollo to return to Olympus, promising that he would deal with him later for not only being responsible for Octavian's behaviour, but also for releasing the Great Prophecy too early. Many demigods knew—though they did not dare to say so aloud—that Zeus was looking for someone to blame. Hera was the obvious choice, seeing as she was the one responsible for uniting the Roman and Greek camps. However, Zeus most likely recognized that punishing Hera, publicly at least, would be highly unpopular among the demigods—especially those of Camp Jupiter, who did not possess the same degree of hate that the Greek demigods harbored for the goddess of marriage. Thus, the blame fell upon Apollo.

Rachel Dare, the Oracle of Delphi, who was currently in Camp Jupiter pouring over the Sibylline Books, reported daily on the status of the voice of Delphi, but it was always the same: the power of prophecy had yet to return.

The absence of the god reminded everyone that despite the facts that the gods showered them with gifts, they were no kinder or more merciful than before the war. Especially Zeus.

Nevertheless, gifts _had_ been given, and if Percy didn't pay attention now, he _would_ be skewered by one of them. He could only imagine the glee on Ares' face if he found out that Percy Jackson had died by a weapon he had given his daughter.

He sidestepped the first jab, quickly stepping into Clarisse's guard only to have to jump aside as she brought her significantly longer sword around in a wide arc, a grin on her face. This was how they fought for the younger demigods—trading blows, transitioning seamlessly from offense to defense—in order to avoid simply ending the spar and declaring a winner. They made sure to perform the techniques and strikes that Percy taught in class, their blows becoming more elaborate and ferocious as the two demigods battled, their weapons and bodies a blur to the point where it sounded as if even the clash and shriek of metal on metal was becoming distorted by the speed of the fight.

Finally, the two demigods ended the battle with a resounding _clang!_ as the electrified sword slammed against Riptide, throwing red sparks everywhere and forming an X between the two fighters. The two looked at one another for a moment, panting, sweat streaking their faces from the exertion of the spar, red tendrils of electricity jumping between them, before breaking the stare and turning to the young campers, who were upset that they could not reap the benefits of their placed bets of the fight, but who were cheering nonetheless after having seen the breathtaking display of spectacular swordsmanship.

Percy was inevitably reminded of Luke as he caught the looks of awe and respect on the faces of the demigods before him, and came to the realization that he was where the son of Hermes had been when he first arrived at Camp, 6 years ago. _So much has happened since then . . ._ seeing how the numbers had swelled at Camp Half-Blood, how free and spacious the Hermes cabin was now, how happy and carefree these demigods were, he had to admit that he was exactly where he wished to be. Looking at the fruits of his labour, recognizing that the gods had at least changed a little for the better when he made them swear to claim their children after the Second Titan War. Having a friendly spar with his once-enemy-but-now-friend.

Luke had not been happy, no. But Percy was, and he hoped that such a difference was meaningful. Despite all that Luke had done under the shadow of Kronos, Percy wished in a sudden pang of a lost dream that the son of Hermes was here to live in the Camp Half-Blood of now—a Camp Half-Blood where the bond between demigods and gods was a little closer, a little more familiar.

He grinned at the demigods, at _his students_ , willing himself to be happy and to embrace the overwhelming sadness of the moment.

 _This is for you, Luke._

* * *

Tony Stark was bored.

Sure, he had a dozen meetings this upcoming weekend that ranged from incorporating the new subsidiaries that Stark Industries had recently acquired, to finalizing the 'cease and desist' treaty that the Avengers had formed with the business people (mercenaries, Tony pointed out in the last meeting, to Pepper's horror) in Wakanda concerning future attempts to mine for Vibranium, and also finding new ways to support the Stark Relief Fund, which was used in the aftermath of whatever devastation the Avengers caused in their rather destructive quests to save the world.

In fact, the relief fund was still being used by Sokovia, where huge structural and geographical damage had been caused in the wake of Ultron's plan to create a meteor out of the town which would rise and eventually fall to wipe out humanity. Half of Sokovia was gone, and in its place was a huge crater-like hole that stretched for miles in each direction. The fund was also being used to treat PTSD, the increased cases of respiratory and cardiovascular problems, and many other health problems that had developed among the townspeople. Tony sympathized.

"The heart can only take so much, you know?" He'd said in one of the first meetings with Sokovia's political leaders while negotiating the distribution of funds across the vast array of post-Ultron issues that needed to be addressed in the old European town. "The robot you guys could probably take, even maybe the giant green guy—Dr. Banner, he's a good friend, as long as you don't make him angry—and the blond superman flying around with a war hammer." Tony nodded to himself. "Yeah, you guys could probably put up with that. I personally think it was when your town started rising—like, like _Sky High_ , you know? Actually, better you don't know—the movie wasn't that great." The European leaders had frowned at him, not getting the reference. "Anyway _, I_ would start hyperventilating and having a heart attack if I had been you. So I totally understand why half your town seems to have developed a whole wallop of health problems." Tony had clasped his hands together, a light smirk on his face. "So, where would you like to start?"

Pepper had managed a pale smile, making an excuse to the political leaders that he had been drinking recently—which he had _not_ , only a small glass of vodka—and had then quickly ushered him out of the room, closing the door in his face.

That was what the majority of the year had been like since the Avengers defeated Ultron nearly one year ago. In fact, this coming Tuesday—July 12th—would mark the one year anniversary of Ultron's fall. And the day before that would be Vision's first birthday.

Tony snorted into his drink. It was too absurd, trying to imagine Vision crawling around in diapers.

He wondered how the team was doing. After Ultron, they had all gone their separate ways.

Steve and Romanoff were in charge of the Avengers' new training facility, and were probably still readying the newest members of their Avengers team: Rhodes, Vision, Sam Wilson, and Wanda. Tony shuddered just thinking of her name—he hadn't forgotten the visions that she'd stirred up in his head.

Clint had retired to Homestead, settling down with his family. The former SHIELD agent remained on call, of course. If ever the Avengers were needed again, he would be there. But otherwise, he was more of a family guy. And he was the only one who visited Tony from time to time, something that the billionaire greatly appreciated, though he would never admit it. Clint's most current 4 day stay at Stark—no, _Avengers Tower_ , why couldn't he get that in his head?—had just ended. In fact, the archer had just left an hour before, promising to return next week in time to mark the one year anniversary of Ultron. And perhaps throw a birthday party.

Bruce was gone. Probably in the remotest part of the world. No longer could he share the ideas that overwhelmed his mind, nor tease and annoy the doctor. His presence was a hole in Tony's heart—and yes, he did have a heart. He had built Ultron with Banner, brought Vision to life with his aid. And he had chosen to leave. Abandon them all. Tony was angry, to say the least.

Thor had returned to Asgard, seeking answers as to why the mystical Infinity Stones were suddenly popping up left and right. However, Tony suspected that he'd also visited Jane a number of times over the past year—why else would there be sightings of a 'blonde superman' from time to time?

And Jarvis was gone. Sure, he had been absorbed into Vision, but Vision wasn't Jarvis—he sounded like him, but that was it. His best friend, the one who had stuck by him for more than half his life after every single success and failure, was _gone_. Whereas Banner's absence left a hole in his heart, Jarvis' completely obliterated him. He missed his wit and comfort, his unfailing loyalty and dependability, his guidance. He had never judged Tony—he had supported him when no one else would. And _**he was gone**_. He would never tell Friday, despite the fact that she couldn't become upset and wouldn't take it as an insult, but he wanted Jarvis back. And yet, he couldn't. His AI had become something bigger, more complex—he wasn't really an AI anymore. Vision was something else entirely.

And so Tony was all alone.

That was why he'd signed up for the fighting classes. Sure, learning hand-to-combat was a great bonus, but it wasn't the primary reason that he was looking forward to every single Tuesday and Thursday for the rest of July and to the end of August.

He didn't want to be alone.

And yet, Percy had warned him that he would only be able to instruct him for July and August. After that, he was gone for college, and Tony would have to find another instructor to teach him. At the time, Tony had brushed off the warning and adamantly demanded that Percy would teach him, for no other reason except that he didn't want to spend extra time trying to get transferred to another instructor. Now, however? Tony wasn't looking forward to the end of August. Sure, he'd been shocked that Percy hadn't recognized him, but he'd gotten used to the kid's lack of familiarity with the Avengers and his resultant nonchalance. It was . . . refreshing. A nice change from the screaming fans and prowling media, even though he loved them no less.

And yet, when August finished up, Percy would be gone and he'd be alone. Again. More alone than he had been for the majority of his life. Forgotten by his father, pushed away by jealous millionaires, dumped by an innumerable number of—

"Tony!"

Ah, dumped by an innumerable number of women—save for one.

"Yes dear!" He called over his shoulder, his voice friendly and teasing.

"Tony, these were supposed to be signed weeks ago!" Pepper Potts, Tony's long-time girlfriend, came bustling into the living room (one of many in the Avengers Tower), wearing full business attire, a slightly hassled expression on her face. In her hand was a transparent tablet with a screen currently filled with holographic files.

"Yes, I love you too." He rose, going over and taking her up in a kiss.

Pepper obliged for a moment, leaning against him, before pushing him away. "Alright, that's enough, Tony. I—"

"You can never have enough of me." He hurried towards the door of the room, dodging the tablet.

"Friday, lock the door, please." Pepper ordered.

 _"Locking the door now, Ms. Potts."_ The glass door automatically slid closed, blocking off Tony's only escape route.

Tony frowned. "Friday, open the door."

 _"Sorry Boss, but I've been told that the papers require a signature. It shouldn't be too much of a hassle._

Tony sighed—remind him again when his UIs*suddenly became mocking? He turned slightly, punching in the passcode into the holographic display on the glass wall by the door to manually override Pepper's command. However, upon entering the passcode, the holograph flashed red once, and the door remained shut.

Tony frowned deeper, turning back to Pepper. "What did you do?"

"What did Friday do." Pepper corrected him, giving a sweet, angelic smile.

Tony walked around, looking for another exit in the huge room, all the while talking to his girlfriend. "Did I share primary command of Friday with you? I don't remember . . ." He searched vainly for an openable window, a small door, a vent—anything! Except that vent—that was _way_ too small.

"Yes, yes you did, Tony. Now, you're going to be stuck in here until you sign these." Pepper placed the holographic tablet onto the coffee table.

Tony stared out the unopenable ceiling-to-ground window, wondering if he could call his Iron Man suit in time. Probably not, since Friday was in control of suit deployment. He gave a dramatic sigh, turning around and slowly making his way back to his girlfriend and the damned papers. The first opportunity he got, he was going to renovate each and every one of his rooms with a secret door.

He sat down on the couch next to the coffee table, taking the stylus proffered by Pepper and looking down at the tablet. "Where do I need to sign?"

"I'm sure a big boy like you could find that out by yourself." Pepper said, looking down at him.

"Of course." He skimmed over the documents, looking for the fill-in the blanks, and began to sign. "So, what are these for?"

"The documents detailing the new additions that you wanted for all of our major locations, remember? And we also need to start hiring project managers and the rest of the crews. We should probably start with Los Angeles."

"New additions . . .?" Tony frowned, then remembered. "Oh— _those_."

Ever since their battle with Ultron, Tony had been drawing up building plans to all major Stark Industries locations across the world. He'd come to the realization that while they, the Avengers, had done rather well in defeating the AI, they could have performed significantly better if only they'd had bountiful resources to draw from from a convenient location. They'd travelled all across the world, from South Korea to Sokovia to Wakanda, but they'd always been running. Running from homicidal robots, the rabid and attacking media, the typical haters—you get how it is. But what if they hadn't needed to run? What if they could have retreated to a close-by location, which no one but a select group of people were aware of?

That's what these new additions were. Every major Stark Industries location was in the process of being outfitted with an entirely new branch of lodgings that would contain everything a group of global heroes might need: a medical wing, living quarters, an armoury—even one or two training rooms. Very few (aka: only Tony, Pepper, Friday, and one or two trusted employees) were privy to the actual purpose of these new additions—the majority of people, from the large labour force that would be employed to create the new additions, to the people who were already working at the location, were simply told that it was Tony Stark's private office. Which was code for: a billionaire's business is none of your business.

The planning stage for the ambitious project was nearly done—all Tony had to do was sign these papers to give the 'ok'. He didn't often sign off on documents—Pepper usually did that, especially since she had become more involved in the finances of Stark Industries and the Avengers—but this time, Tony was personally overseeing the project. And yes, once he had given the approval, they _would_ have to start hiring the crews—starting with their headquarters in Los Angeles.

Of course, it was a little pointless at the moment, seeing as there didn't seem to be any threats in the near future that required the Avengers. It never hurt to be prepared, however . . .

"You know," he said as he continued to sign, his signatures becoming more and more extravagant. "Taking into account your abuse of authority over Friday, I'm considering revoking your primary directive over her."

"Oh? Well, you can reconsider dinner for the next few weeks—because I won't be joining you."

"Ummm . . ." He paused, his last signature becoming slightly skewed. "Maybe it'll be a temporary revocation of your authority, then."

"I guess we'll need another bed, then."

Tony sighed. Why was he always the victim of blackmail? He handed the tablet and stylus back to his girlfriend. "Well, maybe sharing primary command of Friday isn't so bad after all . . ."

Pepper beamed. "Perfect!" She kissed Tony on the cheek and, with the door sliding open effortlessly before her, walked out of the room.

"Wait!" Tony suddenly remembered the promise he'd made to Percy.

Pepper turned around, eyebrow raised. She was already outside of the room, but the wall between them was glass.

"Do we have a Room Designer for Stark—Avengers Tower?"

Pepper's eyebrow raised even higher. " _I'm_ the Room Designer." Then she spun around, stalking away.

Tony flopped down on the couch, scratching his head.

Oops.

* * *

*"UI" = User Interface

 **Please read the A/N above this chapter if you have not yet.**

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 **\- 100th Century**

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 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **I'mSufferingOfCerealBoredom** : _Well then, thank you for the review!_

 **GabrielleMAvis** : _Thank you telling me! Let me know if the format for this chapter is better._

 **Nobody** : _Are you proposing this as a separate story or a part of the current story? Also, the idea is great, but I'm a little iffy on using a character from someone else's fanfiction._

 **LeknaWorshipper** : _I actually have the book, but I haven't read it yet. I know I'll probably be hooked if I start reading it, and I can't afford to use up that time when life is so busy. However, I plan on reading it once I get the time—let me get back to you :) Also, thanks for the answer! And Loki is only a part of the problem, unfortunately . . . ;) I will attempt romance, and I think I'm going to keep Pietro dead. I apologize to those who wish to see him alive. And the questions are awesome, keep them up!_

 **person:** _hopefully my A/N above answered your question. And thank you!_

 **Guest 567:** _Let me think on it and I'll get back to you :)_

 **Vivliofagos:** _Awesome questions! I'm going to keep some unanswered—gotta keep some mystery after all ;) I hope to have a slightly different first encounter between Percy and Thor—I've read too many "we tell stories of your bravery"—the plot is great, but it's used too much._

 **TheAdaptableWriter** : _Thank you for the guideline! I'll let you know if I plan on using your character._

 **ResidentOfCabin6** : _Thank you for that insight—I've added a little extra to the chapter to account for Chiron. Please let me know if it works :)_

 **ColdMilkLover** : _Only time will tell . . . ;) Another lesson is coming up soon, hopefully in the next chapter—just wait a little longer. And thank you for the questions—please keep asking them!_

 **LostHeroGuide** _: Thank you! As I said in my promise above—I will_ ** _never_** _drop this story until it's finished. It's too fun to write, and it would be a crime to leave it unfinished._

 **beazlerat** : _Thank you! I made it on whim to be honest, but I've come to love it._


	5. Anniversaries I: Invitations

**GUESTS OF FANFICTION: Okay, this goes out to everyone who hasn't reviewed my story yet, especially the guests of Fanfiction—those of you who are reading my story but don't have an account on fanfiction. A couple of you have given reviews, and good ones at that. The rest of you . . . well, there's a notable lack of reviews. Fanfiction has a purpose besides providing a site on which people may create stories: it allows for aspiring writers to stretch their literary fingers and expand their creative brain, and ultimately, to allow them to improve their writing skills. Through REVIEWS. Which are provided by their readers. So when you read any story on Fanfiction, you guys have a duty to the writer, just as the writer has a duty to continue their story and not abandon it. Comment and question! Provide suggestions for improvement—I welcome and ENCOURAGE constructive criticism.**

 **Thank you to all those who reviewed, followed, and favourited—your support is heartwarming.**

* * *

Anniversaries I: Invitations

Tony blinked as he read Annabeth's list of credentials and experience that Percy had sent to him on his girlfriend's behalf. She was 18 and she'd already done all this? He immediately turned, jumping up from his spinning chair and striding to his workspace.

"Friday, bring up all records on Annabeth Chase."

 _"Records drawn up, Boss."_

Across his two massive transparent screens, an array of files slid into view. He began to flip through them, skimming through school and employment records, verifying all of the information that Percy had sent to him. He also had Friday perform a thorough background check. He was doing pretty much the same process that he'd done with Percy before agreeing to take lessons from him (school attendance was more than questionable, but other than that, he seemed to be a good kid).

An hour later, he leaned back in his chair.

There was no doubt about it—this girl was a genius. Not the mathematical or sciency kind, nor the inventive or philosophical kind, but the artistic kind. The kind that would accomplish the next great architectural feat.

He looked again at the picture of the temple that Percy had sent to him, shaking his head. He was no master architecture, but he _had_ dabbled a little in architecture while working with Pepper to redesign the Tower, and seeing this work . . . he _needed_ to talk to this girl. Her designs may have been a little old, and the polar opposite to the futuristic designs of Stark Industries' buildings, but they were genius nonetheless.

"Friday," Tony began pacing back and forth. "Text Percy."

 _"Yes, Boss."_ A textbox appeared in the corner of one of his screens, an indication that Friday was ready to start texting. _"What would you like to say?"_

 _How the hell does a guy like Percy get a girl like Annabeth?_ was the first thought that came to mind. Tony cleared his throat. "Ummmm—no, don't include that—Hey, so I know I told you last week that the Room Designer job here at the Tower was already . . . occupied. But . . ."

* * *

Percy read the text again, disbelieving of this sudden turn of events.

 _Hey, so I know I told you last week that the Room Designer job here at the Tower was already . . . occupied. But, I do have a couple new job openings . . . How does working in Los Angeles sound? I've got a new project starting up at Headquarters, and I think your girlfriend might be interested. I know, I know—it's a little far from New York. But tell her to think about it. And maybe we can meet, soon? Peace out._

And underneath was a small emoticon . . . was that the faceplate of the Iron Man suit?

Nevermind—this was far better than Percy ever imagined. Sure, he'd thought about asking Tony about jobs in LA, but never would he have dreamed that Tony would actually offer a job working there, _and_ at the headquarters of Stark Industries!

It was Monday, and Percy and Tony had been texting back and forth about Annabeth potentially working in Stark Industries for the last several days. Percy had sent Tony a list of Annabeth's credentials and job experience, including her school diploma and the various jobs and projects she had completed in the last year. He would have sent Annabeth's actual resumé, but that would've required him to steal it from her laptop— _Daedulus'_ laptop. That was a dead end.

However, he did send pictures of some of the arches that Annabeth had created for Olympus, along with the temple that she had designed to house the Athena Parthenos, which now rested in the centre of Camp Half-Blood. With these photos, he gave the vague explanation that she had recently completed a job for a rich family—a very rich and powerful family who did not wished to be identified or named, but who was willing to allow Annabeth (or rather, Percy) to share the details of some of the work Annabeth had done for them.

And yet, despite the vague and impromptu nature of Annabeth's resumé, Tony was already willing to offer a job! The timing could not be more perfect—tomorrow was July 12th, Annabeth's birthday. And maybe he would bring Annabeth to his lesson with Tony on Thursday. He would bring her tomorrow, except for the fact that many stores and buildings—including the fighting studio—was closed tomorrow in an international holiday concerning Ultron. What was is called again . . . Percy couldn't remember.

Suddenly, Percy's phone vibrated again. Percy checked the notification, realizing that it was a text from Clint. He frowned—first his e-mail address, and now his number? The text read:

 _There's a party tomorrow at Avengers Tower and I've been invited. Everyone's required to bring a friend—want to be mine? You can bring your girlfriend ;) I can only imagine Tony's face when we introduce you as his secret fighting instructor to the rest of the team. LOL_

Percy laughed—yes, he could only imagine. Well, it looked like they would be meeting sooner than Tony had anticipated.

* * *

Steve smashed his shield into the HYDRA agent's face, sending her flying through the clutter of old equipment and into the rusted wall of the old warehouse.

"Bucky!" He shouted, turning on the spot, looking again for the telltale glint of his friend's metal arm. He was here, he could feel it in his gut.

His earpiece came alive. _"At the treeline to the north, Cap!"_ There was a grunt from Sam's side as he took a punch from the HYDRA soldier he was carrying, before he dropped him, letting him plummet dozens of feet to crash through the warehouse roof. _"I can see someone running into the forest."_

"Go!" Natasha called from her standing position on a rusting worktable. "I've got this."

Steve, unworried for the former SHIELD agent and almost pitying the group of heavily armed HYDRA agents closing in, nodded gratefully. He threw his shield onto his back, feeling it attach to the magnet on his suit, and ran in a twisted path around all of the old equipment, crashing through an enemy soldier and a crumbling wall of plaster and bursting outside into the bright afternoon sun. He sprinted past Wanda, who gave him a nod before moving her body in a graceful and violent shift to the right, tendrils of red energy shooting from her hands and striking the three agents that had been pursuing Steve, lifting them off their feet and hurling them back into the warehouse.

"Thanks!" He called over his shoulder as he blew by. He looked far ahead to the edge of the forest and noticed the bushes that were shaking wildly. Someone had recently run by. "Hey, stop!"

The ghostly figure only sped up, the trees swallowing his shape.

" _These guys just don't stay DEAD!"_ Rhodes yelled over the comms in frustration as he shot his repulsors at one of the more heavily armoured HYDRA agents, who was covered from head to toe in a metal suit. There was a sudden rush of sound, similar to that of a weaponized laser, and the rapid fire of the HYDRA-style machine gun suddenly stopped.

 _". . . Thanks."_ Rhodes was probably trying to come to terms with the fact that Vision had just helped him—he still wasn't on friendly terms with him. In fact, he still referred to him as _The_ Vision, to Wanda's eternal annoyance.

 _"You're welcome_." Vision responded.

Steve continued to listen to the reports that his team continually brought in, still in pursuit of the runaway. "Bucky, STOP! I just want to talk!" He didn't know how he knew it was him—only that it was. He leapt over a fallen log just as something flew through the air towards him. Instinctively, he whipped out his shield, smacking aside the object. It flew into a patch of ferns and exploded—it'd been a grenade. Steve continued pursuit when his foot connected with something—

The sudden explosion activated by the tripwire sent him flying through the air, the breath knocked out of him as he struck the trunk of a tree. If he'd been any serumless human, his spine would have snapped on impact. By the time he'd gotten to his feet and the smoke had cleared, the man he'd been tracking was gone.

 _"Can't see anybody in the forest, Cap."_ Sam reported.

 _"Grenades and fire screwed up heat signature readings—he could be anywhere by now."_ Rhodes added.

Natasha appeared by his side. "He's gone, Steve." She said, for probably the third time this week. "I'm sorry."

Steve threw his shield onto the ground. "Damn it!"

"Language, Cap." A familiar voice scolded from somewhere above.

Steve raised his shield and Natasha's gun snapped up. Then they caught sight of the drone.

Steve lowered his shield, still looking at the bird-shaped drone hovering above them, and sighed. "Stark. What are you doing?"

"Ouch—no hello, Cap? That hurts." The voice came from the speaker integrated into the drone, and there was a sound similar to someone clapping their hands together. "Well, hello to you too. And I'm talking to you because there's a party tomorrow, here at the Tower, and you're invited."

Sam dropped in beside Steve and Natasha, his wings collapsing into the pack on his back. He looked irritated.

"You hacked my drone to invite us to a _party_?"

* * *

 **GUESTS OF FANFICTION: For those of you who didn't read the note before this chapter, please read it.**

 **Please review! Even if you just have thoughts and questions. You have no idea how helpful they've been—one person can only think so much. The reviews for the last few chapters have been really good—I've gotten a whole bunch of ideas just from people asking questions, so keep it up!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Just Anny** : _Thank you! Yeah, it was a little difficult writing Tony in the beginning, just because of how unpredictable he can be sometimes. Let me know if anything appears OC as the story progresses._

 **Br0kenThOrn** : Ant-Man might be included (key word being 'might'), and the Guardians of the Galaxy . . . I'm not so sure. They might just be mentioned. I have to watch how much I expand the cast, because it starts getting really complicated with each additional character that becomes involved. This _will_ be my version of the infinity wars, yes. I'm not sure how I'll be portraying the rest of the Percy Jackson crew in response to the Avengers, but your suggestion that they would fear Banner is actually pretty interesting. I might look into that more, so thank you in advance and I'll let you know if I plan on including it.

 **Cooljoanna15** : _Yup, he's dead, unfortunately. I actually_ _ **was**_ _going to put him in an Odinsleep, but you'll see soon enough why him being dead is actually going to play a very important role in this story. Unfortunately, I'll most likely be keeping Percy's mom a mortal and with the same background story as told in the books, but perhaps in the future, when and if I have time, I'll do a small story based on that plot line._

 **Jasongreen** : _Thank you! Unfortunately, I will not be incorporating those two casts of characters. I haven't read Magnus Chase yet, to tell you the truth. I'm waiting until I have time to._

 **Nobody:** _Very true. Unfortunately, I've already come up with the major elements of the plot for this story, and won't be able to incorporate the suggestions. However, I actually wasn't going to include HYDRA in this story, but I've decided that it's too important to disregard, so thank you for bringing that up in your last suggestion! And I used to watch supernatural, but then it got too repetitive, so I stopped. However, if I get time in the future, I will be happy to do a crossover between the Kane Chronicles and Supernatural—the earlier seasons of the show are a lot better in my opinion._

 **ResidentOfCabin6** : _Perfect, thank you!_

 **Vivliofagos:** _Thank you! I actually hadn't considered yet how Tony would react, but your suggestion is good, and I've expanded upon it—hopefully you'll see it in the next chapter or so!_

 **shiningsilverwolf** : _I tried to put a scene with direct interaction, but it just didn't work out, unfortunately. However, it's definitely coming up in the next two chapters._

 **Littlebear62007** : _Your comment actually made me laugh when I read it, though I do apologize for the distress I put you through. Perhaps this chapter provides you with some closure?_

 **GabrielleMAvis** : _*laugh* Very true :)_


	6. Anniversaries II: Preparations

**First off, I'd like to sincerely apologize for the long wait. I know that I released the earlier chapters at a faster rate, and I honestly wasn't expecting to take this long to update. Unfortunately, I will be extremely busy for the next two months, and it looks as if my update rate will be dropping to once per a week, give or take a day or so.**

 **Secondly, the chapter I was going to release today was going to be a mega-giant chapter (for me at least), of approximately 12k words in length. However, I'm still editing the second portion of the chapter, so I decided to release the first half for you guys, because you've waited long enough. The second portion should be released in a few hours.**

 **Many of you guys have been questioning who might be joining our heroes. I don't want to restrict myself in naming them now, but nevertheless, I'll name a few that I'm** _ **pretty sure**_ **will be in this story: Ant-Man, Spider-Man, Black Panther. I have not read Magnus Chase yet, and neither Magnus nor the Kane siblings will be in this story. Pietro will also remain dead. I apologize to those who did wish to see them.**

 **Also, I'm really not familiar with the Black Panther. As I said to Br0kenThOrn, I'm only writing him in because he looks awesome in the Civil War trailer. Any tips about his character would be greatly appreciated!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Anniversaries II: Preparations

 _"And Thor." Odin called. "Return with the location of the Stones—I do not want to hear from Heimdall that you have taken it upon yourself to gallivant about the Nine Realms."_

 _Thor bowed his head. "Of course."_

 _Then he left._

Thor headed to the dining hall, where his friends were most likely to be. Frey . . . the warrior of foresight had not been heard from for a very long time. So long, in fact, that he had become a myth in some parts of Asgard, similar to how Thor had simply been an imaginary god on Midgard.

But the warrior was a myth no more, apparently.

Thor strode into the dining hall to find Volstagg taking full advantage of the feasting table, which was always stocked with food. The dining hall ran parallel to the training courtyard just outside, where Sif and Fandral were currently sparring with great enthusiasm.

"My friends!" Thor called, walking down the steps.

Volstagg looked up from his great platter of food and swallowed all of the chicken in his mouth, his face breaking into a wide grin. "THOR!" He boomed.

Sif and Fandral both paused in their fighting, turning towards Volstagg's voice, and gave similar cries of welcome as they beheld their friend, whom they had not seen for more than two years since he had left following the War of the Convergence, in which he defeated the last of the Dark Elves at the cost of his mother's and Loki's lives.

The four friends embraced each other, laughing and clapping each other on the backs.

"How fared your travels?" Sif questioned. She appraised the prince before her, noting that he had hardly changed, save for being more clean shaven about the face. No doubt a result of the influence of that mortal, Jane. Once again, she felt a twinge of something deep within—yes, she was bitter.

"Very well. But it appears your battle skills have become diminished." Thor smiled widely, flipping Mjölnir. "I doubt Fandral has given you much challenge the last two years."

"I beg your pardon?" The blonde warrior said indignantly.

Thor only grinned wider. "We will have to catch up on our daily ritual of spars—It has been too long since I last bested you all."

Sif laughed lightly, the cold sentiment that she had been feeling towards Thor melting away for the moment. "It appears you haven't changed for the better—your arrogance has become longer than Heimdall's sword!"

Thor shook his head while his friends shared a laugh.

Fandral slung an arm around Thor. "And what brings you here to mingle with the peasants?" He joked.

"A mystery," Thor responded, "Concerning the Infinity Stones."

Fandral's arm slipped off of Thor's shoulders and Sif frowned at him, while Volstagg stopped chewing and started nervously pulling on his very long and voluminous beard.

"The Infinity Stones?" Sif repeated. She caught the troubled look on Thor's face. "This cannot be anything good."

Thor shook his head. "No." He explained to his friends about the resurfacing of four of the Infinity Stones over the past several years. "And Odin has now tasked me with finding Frey in an attempt to find the last two." He finished.

"He fears that someone is after the Stones." Fandral realized.

"Yes." Thor nodded. "As do I."

There was silence for a moment.

Volstagg shifted uncomfortably. "If this . . . person, searching for the Infinity Stones is anything like Malekith . . ." He drifted off.

There was no need to complete the sentence—the four of them understood. The Nine Realms were now the least of their worries—it was the existence of all the universes that was at stake.

* * *

The moment the four of them touched down in the middle of a village in Vanaheim, a child ran off, yelling, "Hogun, Hogun!"

Thor stepped out of the slightly smoking circle of grass even as dozens of people began to emerge from large, well-built huts, standing back respectively as an elderly woman approached the four Asgardians.

"Thor Odinson." Her voice was hoarse, and she was short and old. However, she held herself with a certain strength that any person could see in her straight back and her black eyes.

Thor dipped his head respectively. "Fulla."

Fulla of Vanaheim. Named after Fulla the Goddess, it was a fit name. The elderly woman had lived for many centuries, already nursing her children when Odin's first cries were heard in the royal nursery, and was a beloved healer and guide among her people. "Shaman," some humans might call her.

The crowd that had gathered began to disperse, respecting the private audience that Thor and his companions clearly required with Fulla. As the last few children reluctantly allowed their parents to pull them away, still staring openly at Thor and his hammer, a man with black hair and an uncompromising face walked up to the group.

"Hogun!" Thor smiled widely and the two embraced, the shorter man's lips raised the smallest of degrees as they broke apart after a moment.

"Thor." The final member of the Warriors Three greeted the prince.

Addressing both Fulla and Hogun, Thor said, "I've come on a matter of urgent importance, and I require your aid." He directed this last bit to Fulla.

The elder nodded, signalling for him to continue.

"I'm looking for Frey."

Fulla tilted her head, looking much like a bird with her piercing eyes and stern face. "Few are privy to his existence—even fewer know of his dwelling. And almost none seek him."

"I—"

"You will find him in the Hurrungane Mountains." Fulla turned, pointing a gnarled finger at a huge mountain range that rose out of a vast forest and was shrouded in low lying clouds.

Thor dipped his head again, knowing not to call out Fulla's intentions nor her implied questions. "Thank you, Fulla."

When he raised his head again, he was unnerved by her black eyes staring steadfastly at him. "Be wary, Thor Odinson. Frey does not take well to visitors."

"I will, thank you."

Fulla nodded once, then turned to Hogun. A silent conversation of knowing looks and eyes full of meaning passed between them, and then Fulla was walking away, returning to her hut.

Volstagg shivered. "It would be folly to cross her."

Sif silently agreed, before saying, "To Hurrungane?"

The group looked towards the fog-shrouded mountain range. They had heard the stories, and none of them were eager to confirm them.

"To Hurrungane." Thor nodded, and together, the five of them started towards the looming mountain range.

* * *

"How is the All-Father?" Sif asked as they ate their meal.

Volstagg and Fandral had returned from hunting about an hour ago, in human time (Thor had developed the habit of measuring everything in hours and minutes, after spending so much time on Midgard, and could not seem to shake it off, much to his annoyance), and they had roasted the caught rabbits, the looming Hurrungane Mountains rising to their right. The group would start their upwards trek tomorrow—they had decided to rest in the forest below for the night.

Thor threw a bone into the small fire they had created. "He is well, better than last I saw him."

Two years ago, still reeling from the successive deaths of Frigga and Loki, Thor had not been much better than his father. Bombarded by feelings of guilt and heavy grief, he had escaped to Midgard in an attempt to distance himself from all reminders of his mother and brother. Odin, however, had not been able to do the same. He was King, after all. He could not abandon his post, no matter how much he wished to.

Thor felt guilt reverberate in his chest—he had abandoned his father, in the simplest terms. He had been a coward, running from his grief and letting Odin bear its burden alone. But no longer—he vowed to never abandon Father again and condemn him to isolation and lonely mourning.

"What does the All-Father intend to do, once we've located the last two Infinity Stones?" Fandral asked carefully.

Thor blinked. He had not considered that. "I don't know." He answered truthfully.

"We cannot risk bringing them back to Asgard; the weapons vault already houses the Space Stone—the Tesseract—and it would be beyond dangerous to hide another two Stones in the same place." Hogun pointed out.

"Perhaps he will hide them elsewhere." Volstagg reasoned.

"Perhaps." Thor said absentmindedly.

"We can contemplate this issue later." Sif said firmly, effectively closing the conversation. "For now, let us rest. We will need our strength tomorrow."

The rest of the group didn't argue with her. She was right, after all. Who knew what would be waiting for them?

* * *

"Thor!" Sif shouted, ducking beneath the _draugr_ and stabbing her sword into its chest. Unfortunately, the creature didn't drop dead—instead, it lunged at Sif, still impaled upon her weapon, its blackened and decaying nails nearly making contact with the warrior's skin.

Sif growled in frustration, and pulled out her sword. She danced back, out of the reach of the _draugr_ , and brought her sword around in a wide arc—the sword elongated into a long staff-like weapon that consisted of a handle bounded by two long blades, one of which loped off the creature's head. The decaying body dropped to the ground, finally stilling.

Scattered throughout the rest of their temporary camp site, the Warriors Three were also struggling with the risen undead.

"Ha!" Fandral flourished his thin, very sharp blade, and decapitated a _draugr_.

Volstagg roared, swinging his axe and cutting through several decaying bodies. By his side, Hogun was agile and efficient, the spiked metal ball at the end of his swing chain wreaking havoc on the dead flesh.

"THOR!" Sif shouted again, ducking. She raised her weapon and with fast and precise slashes, fully dismembered another _draugr_. _Why do men sleep like pigs?_ She thought with frustration, decapitating another creature.

The hair on her arms raised suddenly and there was a thunderous crack as a lightning bolt from the skies struck the ground, instantly decimating all _draugr_ within a good 10 strides and creating a small crater around which trees were haphazardly leaning away from, fully or partially ripped from their roots.

Thor leaped out of the crater and swung his hammer, effectively crushing all of the bones in a disorientated _draugr_. He turned to Sif, frowning, his blonde hair tousled from having just woken up.

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

Sif scoffed. "I would if I could." She heard a snarl behind her and ducked just as Thor's hammer swung above her, making a sickening crack with yet another _draugr_.

"We must make the trek through the mountains—perhaps they cannot climb." Sif said, straightening.

Thor nodded and after calling to the rest of their friends, they started up the mountain, slowly making their way through the _draugr_ that continued to burst out of the shadow of trees and crevices. They _could_ climb.

"From whence do they come?" Volstagg exclaimed, slicing through a growing horde. "Never before have I seen so many!"

After several gruelling hours of trekking up the mountain, finding old trails and long-lost series of footholds, the group was now backed up on a small outcrop on the face of a cliff. The only escape they could see was the crumbling stair-like steps they'd taken to reach the outcrop, and it was currently packed full of _draugr_. Thor had a strong urge to summon lightning and blast the creatures to bits, but knew that he would end up destroying the very outcrop they were standing on as well.

"The War of Hurrungane." Hogun grunted, taking a powerful blow from one of the creatures. "It's said that the felled warriors of the war's many battles were buried among the forests below, or left to freeze in the mountains." He swung his spiked weapon in a deadly arc, ripping off a decaying head. "Without proper burials, the spirits must have grown restless and returned to their bodies to rise again."

"I have a plan!" Thor shouted over the snarls and hisses of the _draugr_ , smashing through another swarm of them and sending dismembered limbs flying.

"Let's not!" Fandral shouted back, parrying away claws with a pair of daggers. He'd lost his sword about an hour ago when a _draugr_ got caught on it and refused to let go, forcing him to toss both the sword and the creature down the side of the cliff. "The last time you said that, I was pulling thorns out of my backside for an entire fortnight!"

Thor didn't listen, going over to the rock face where their little outcropping of stone joined with the rest of the mountain.

"Thor!" Sif shouted in warning. "Whatever you're planning to do—"

"It will work, Lady Sif! Trust me!" Thor raised Mjölnir and brought it down in a powerful arc, striking the stone and completely obliterating the rocky junction between the outcrop and the face of the cliff, sending them hurtling down the side of the mountain on the largest rock sled in the Nine Realms.

"THOR!" His four friends screamed and shouted, falling to their knees under the rush of wind and flying stones. They shouted again as they saw what they were hurtling towards—a giant crevice with a gaping black maw.

Within seconds, they were swallowed up, and peering down into the crevice with dead eyes, the _draugr_ quietly backed away, unwilling to disturb what lay in the depths of its shadows.

* * *

They dropped through blackness for a moment, the sides of their makeshift sled grating and crumbling away with the sides of the crevice they had fallen into, before they struck something with a bone-jarring jerk and were sent flying through the dark, landing hard on a rocky ground.

Sif groaned, struggling to her feet with weak knees and a nauseous feeling. Above, the mouth of the crevice was high and far away. She heard someone call her name—Thor.

"Sif?" Thor called again. In his hand, something glowed softly—Mjölnir. "Fandral? Volstagg, Hogun?"

"Here." Sif called, just as the rest of her friends called from various parts of the . . . cave, Sif supposed.

Thor made his way to Sif, peering at her. "Are you hurt?"

Sif punched him in the face, stalking away to help Fandral up. Thor touched his jaw lightly, wincing, before trailing after her.

"I suppose you are okay." Thor concluded, as Volstagg and Hogun made their way to them, drawn by Mjölnir's light.

"I am not helpless like your mortal love." Sif snapped. "And the next time you decide to send us falling to our deaths, inform me first, so that I may kill you."

Thor blinked. Did he detect jealousy in her voice? Never had he considered Lady Sif in any light other than that of friend and comrade.

"Now, now," Fandral said, trying to smooth tensions. Hogun, always the silent one, watched.

"Let us argue about Thor's poor choices later." Volstagg said gruffly, brushing away a layer of grit from his beard. "I do not feel welcome here."

"You would be right." A voice boomed, echoing. "Few are ever welcome."

The group froze, then slowly turned around to face the deepening darkness of whatever cave they had fallen in.

"Who's there?" Thor hefted Mjölnir, raising the hammer challengingly. "Show yourself."

Sif pushed down his arm, throwing him an annoyed look. "We come in peace, seeking refuge from the _draugr_."

The voice laughed this time, and Fandral swore that the rocks around them trembled as the laughs echoed. "Thor Odinson, seeking refuge? My, my, the times have changed."

Sif could feel Thor tense beside her, and gripped his arm in warning before she said, "Indeed, they have changed. But have they changed so greatly that guests are no longer welcome to a moment of rest from their host?"

"There is a difference, between guests and intruders." Something moved in the shadows towards them, and the ground trembled slightly. "Which are you?"

Against the soft light of Mjölnir, the group looked upon the man whose abode they had stumbled across.

He was the size of a small giant, around 12 feet, Thor supposed, and a fighter. Or at least, he _used_ to be a fighter. While muscles rippled beneath unusually bronze skin, Thor could see the growth of rust on the hilts and blades strapped to the giant's arms and hip. Torn, leather clothing covered the giant from the waist down, while a small brown pouch lay against his bare chest, hanging from his neck by leather strings. His unruly brown hair and beard were wild and overgrown— _Untended_ , Volstagg thought, appalled.

What caught Thor's eye was the giant's sword hanging at his hip in a scabbard—the only weapon that remained unrusted. It was a massive broadsword, even larger than Heimdall's, and was easily as long as Sif was tall. The scabbard was covered in intricate designs—tribal art of the frost giants, Thor noted, identical to the designs carved into their icy skin.

It was the antler that was the identifying factor, however. On the giant's other hip was a single antler, which undoubtedly came from a stag of impressive proportions. It shone white in Mjölnir's light, the prongs as sharp as a sword's blade.

"Frey." Sif breathed.

The giant of a man peered down upon them, his black, black eyes unreadable. "Indeed. Now get out—both intruders and guests are unwelcome here." He turned his back to them, stomping back from whence he came.

"Wait!" His voice echoing, Thor forced himself to swallow his pride. "We came to the Mountains seeking you and your aid."

Frey stopped. "Oh?" He turned around, his black eyes now hard. "You would dare ask for my help? You, who wiped out the last of the Dökkálfr, would have the gall to seek my aid?"

"The Dark Elves were threatening the existence of the Nine Realms!" Volstagg retorted, unable to help himself.

"Wrong—they were threatening your way of life." Frey's voice was dangerously low. "No more. Did you know, I lived on Svartalfheim with them, for nearly a century. It was a time of peace, if not of harmony. But when the Dökkálfr planned to use the Aether to shroud the Nine Realms in darkness, Borr—your grandfather and King of Asgard at the time," Frey turned his burning black eyes on Thor, "declared war upon them. I was forced to leave, my own existence threatened by the king whom I once called friend, and the war that waged in the following years turned the realm into the Dark World you know now. And centuries later, you finished your grandfather's work and completed his legacy by sending the elves into extinction." Frey loomed over them all, seeming to grow larger and larger by the second. "The Dökkálfr were misguided in their use of the Aether, yes, but they were kind souls, and better friends."

"Misguided?" Thor shook with anger. "They were murderers and I dealt with them justly!"

Frey laughed, but it was a dark sound. "Oh yes, it slipped my mind—they murdered Frigga and Loki, did they not? Loki, the man of lies—the stories about him must be lies as well, if his silvertongue could not talk his way out of Hel and return him to the land of the living."

"Insult whom you wish," Thor said with warning in his voice, "but do not slander my brother's name."

"Brother? Last I heard, you let him fall from the Bifrost and threw him into Asgard's prisons! Nevertheless, if you loved him so," Frey leaned down, "it was a fair punishment, no? Your loved ones for my loved friends."

Mjölnir's glowed brighter as Thor shook off Sif's warning hand and took a threatening step towards Frey. "And I suppose the Dark Elves, with their love for the dark and all its creatures, must be having a wonderful time in Hel." Thor's booming voice echoed within the rocky crevasse. "I would offer to send Malekith your regards, but I fear he may be busy with the _draugr_ in the swamps—I hear that dark elves are slayed alive each day so that the risen dead may feast on their black hearts." A dark, gruesome smile played across Thor's face. "A _fair punishment_ , wouldn't you say?"

There was a still silence, in which Volstagg tightened his grip on his axe, Fandral swallowed, Hogun closed his eyes briefly, and Sif sent a quiet prayer to Freyja for patience and guidance with this oaf of a man.

"Fair indeed." Frey said quietly, his eyes alight with rage. "I suppose this is fair, as well."

There was a sudden large and piercing squeal, and then a giant boar was thundering out of the shadows of the cave, bearing down on Thor and his friends.

 _The boar has a halo?_ Sif thought, frozen in place for a moment.

Then the Asgardians scattered, diving out of the way in the last moments. Sif watched as the giant boar ran straight into the rock wall that they had been standing in front of, and decimated the stone, creating a massive hole into which sunlight streamed in.

"Out, we need to get out now!" Hogun ordered. The five of them ran for the newly created hole, spilling out into a midday sun. They were on a small rocky plateau, the forest sprawling out far, far beneath them. Fortunately, the _draugr_ were nowhere to be seen.

Sif shielded her eyes, momentarily blinded, and felt something crash into her just as there was a loud squeal to her left and coarse fur brushed against her arm. She groaned as Thor got off her, holding out his hand. She took it, pulling herself up, and gave a grudging, "Thank you."

The boar was pawing the ground, creating large gouges in the rock ground, furious that it had missed its prey by mere millimetres. In the sunlight, Sif could now get a better look at their newest adversary. It was a giant, golden boar. _Frey's_ boar, Sif recalled from the many stories, Gullinbursti. The creature regarded them with lightly golden eyes, a pair of white tusks jutting dangerously out of its mouth. But that wasn't what caught Sif's eye—it was the glowing fur. Every single bristle on the boar's body seemed to emit a soft golden glow that rivalled even the sun's light. So it seemed that the boar did indeed have a halo.

Even as she levelled her two-bladed weapon at the boar, Volstagg and Thor leapt onto its back. Volstagg brought down his massive axe with a war cry, the blade crunching into the creature's back—it appeared that the bristles were made of actual _gold_. The boar squealed—or roared? Sif couldn't tell which—in anger and bucked violently, throwing both warriors off and sending them crashing into the dirt.

Then it charged once again, forcing Volstagg to dive out of the way. The warrior spat dirt out of his mouth and got to his feet again, spotting his axe wedged deep into the boar's back—not that the boar seemed to notice.

"You had to insult a god!" He yelled at Thor over the boar's angry squeals. And not high-pitched, cute piglet squeals either, but ear-shattering, war horn-like squeals.

"He is not a god!" Thor shouted back, picking himself up after being thrown from the boar's back. Despite his words, he knew that what Volstagg said was true—he had insulted Frey. And insulting powerful beings you required help from was never a good idea.

In Thor's defense, Frey had thrown the first insult.

Running into the path of Gullinbursti's charge, Thor raised Mjölnir and the sky rumbled before a single lightning bolt streaked downwards, connecting with the war hammer before Thor directed its full power at the boar, blasting it right off the plateau and into the forest below. There was a thunderous crash.

Thor turned to Frey, who had been watching from the side with a dark, amused smile. "You will help us, or end up with a fate worse than your boar's."

Frey's smile widened. "Speaking too soon, Thor Odinson. Much too soon. Who do you think pulls my chariot?"

A loud—and very angry—squeal sounded behind them, and the group turned, disbelieving of their ears.

Gullinbursti rose above them all, its eyes a hard gold as its four legs galloped in the air. The boar could _fly_.

 _Of course . . ._ Sif berated herself for having forgotten the stories about the boar.

The group scattered as the angry creature flew towards them, hooves kicking out, and Sif watched as Frey leapt onto the boar's back. The duo hovered just above the plateau, regarding the five warriors.

"Begone, Asgardians, before you wear my patience too thin. Look for help elsewhere—I doubt I would be able to offer you any even if I was willing." An exhaustion lay beneath his voice—Frey was tired. Very tired.

"How would you know if we have not even told you what help we required?" Sif challenged.

"If you leave afterwards, then please, enlighten me." Frey said, indifferent.

"We seek the location of the last two Infinity Stones." Thor said, stepping forward.

A spark ignited in Frey's black eyes and Gullinbursti gave a nervous huff. "Oh? Why didn't you say this before?"

"I . . ." Sif was lost for words.

"Please, sit." Frey motioned to the ground. "Insults and ill sentiments in the past, it seems we have much to discuss."

* * *

"Come on Scarlet, give it a little more power!" Clint shouted from the railing above.

"Easy for you to say, little bird!" Wanda growled, her thick Sokovian accent lacing her voice, as another red pulse shot from her palms, adding to the stream of psionic energy already pouring out of her hands like a pair of jet engines.

"Wanda, concentrate—push!" Steve ordered, standing a few feet in front of her.

"What is she, a new mother?" Sam joked, watching from his hovering position beside Clint.

"I _am_ concentrating!" Wanda snapped. And she was—in fact, her iris' were glowing dark red, as they usually did when she was using her powers to a significant extent. "I have it, I can feel it . . ." With a sudden unusually large burst of energy, she shot 30 feet into the air. "YES!"

And then gravity took over.

There were shouts of alarm, and Sam dove down even as a blue, red and gold figure streaked past him, catching Wanda a foot above the ground and setting her lightly on her feet.

"I did not need saving," Wanda pushed her hair out of her face and frowned.

"Forgive me, but I was not willing to take the chance." Vision smiled gently, and Wanda sighed.

"Fine, _this_ time. Next time, I'm catching myself."

"That was pretty cool." Rhodes complimented, jumping down from the walkway the ringed the training room above and falling through the 50 feet to land on the floor on his feet, courtesy of his War Machine suit. Fortunately, the floor didn't crack, courtesy of a certain billionaire.

"Looks like the land animals are now outnumbered." Sam joked, landing beside Steve and spreading out his wings in a teasing manner.

Ever since their first encounters with the Winter Soldier and the Ant-Man incident (which he had still neglected to tell Cap), where Sam had damaged several EXO-7 suits beyond repair, he'd unearthed an older model of the suit from his basement and brought it to Stark in the hopes that he could perhaps fix it. He did _way_ better than that. His new EXO-7 suit was significantly lighter and more durable than his last one. Coupled with the new red trimmings on the fringes, a faster deployment rate, and an overall sleeker design, Sam had given an appreciative whistle. His baby was back in business. And if that wasn't enough, Stark was also able to revive Redwing, the drone that he'd used for scouting and surveillance on his many pararescue missions, back when he was a part of the 58th Rescue Squadron in the force.

It was the same drone that Stark had hacked into this afternoon in order to invite them to his party tomorrow. _That_ had definitely irked Wanda, calling it a party.

"Also 1 year anniversary of Pietro's death." Tony had quickly amended, upon seeing Wanda's growing ire.

Tomorrow would make it exactly a year since the original team of Avengers took down Ultron in Sokovia. The AI, along with the Avengers, had such a significant impact on the lives of millions across the world as they fought all over the globe, from Sokovia to Wakanda, to the US and South Korea (Not even mentioning that the weeks following up to the final battle were full of news breaking hacks and cyber infiltrations as the homicidal AI gathered all of the equipment and materials required to carry out his plan of worldwide genocide) that July 12th had turned into an international day, of sorts. For some, the day, along with the weeks leading up to it, were known as the Ultron Offensive. Others called it Sokovia's Day, or Humanity's Asteroid in parody of the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs. There were many names, said in many different languages with varying degrees of different emotions (from pride to disugst), but everyone agreed that July 12th was a day that would not be forgotten.

For Wanda, however, it would always be remembered as the day Pietro died. Her twin had sacrificed his life to shield Clint and a young boy from enemy fire. As tragic as the death was, it had spawned an unusual relationship between Clint and Wanda. Seeing the pair interact, Steve wasn't sure whether they were friends or family.

"I'm sure Tony could always make you guys wings, something similar to the EXO-7." Rhodes reasoned.

"I'll keep my feet on the ground, thanks." Steve said, crossing his arms. He didn't do more air travel than necessary.

"And I think Hawkeye implies enough, don't you?" Clint dropped from the walkway, hanging from the railing for a moment before letting go, plummeting a few dozen feet, and then sliding down a glass pillar with his booted feet and gloved hands before hitting the ground with bent knees.

"And what about you, Natasha? Maybe you could ask that guy swinging around New York City to lend you some webs."

Natasha laughed. "The playing field is level now, boys and lady," she added, sending a wink to Wanda. "But what do you think will happen if I'm able to fly? No, for the sake of your egos, I'll turn down the wings."

"Ouch, that was low, Widow." Rhodes shook his head as Sam whistled.

"Alright, that's enough." Steve began herding them out of the training room.

"Got a big day ahead of us tomorrow, kids." Sam clapped his hands together.

"And that's enough from you, Wilson." Steve sighed.

"Ouch, told off by Cap." Rhodes laughed, as they walked out of the training room and down the hallway, towards their quarters.

Sam sniffed. "Shut your trap Rhodes."

The normally serious man gave a rare grin. "You're just asking for another fight."

"Tomorrow, 10 pm, training room."

"You're on."

Vision's voice cut into the conversation. "It appears that I am the only adult here." He sounded resigned to a fate of lonely parenthood with Steve.

"Well . . . Vision, I heard children are good for the soul." Rhodes said. It was evident that he was making an effort to be friendlier towards the sentient being, considering that he was actually addressing him and not ignoring him like he usually did.

The voices faded as they turned a corner. Steve smiled faintly—understanding what Vision was feeling. It was an enormous task, mentoring these new Avengers. They all brought something new to the team, and it was still proving difficult to work in synergy.

Steve walked to his room on the second floor, closing the door and facing the wall opposite him—the wall covered in building plans, maps of various US states and cities, and cuttings from confidential files. At the very top was a picture of a young man with long black hair and a metal arm. Bucky.

They had been so close this afternoon, _so close._ Closer than they had ever been. Though, Steve had to admit to himself, if it wasn't for HYDRA and their uncanny ability to track their former assassin, they might never have gotten so close.

It always happened the same way. A HYDRA convoy would show up on their radar and the team would suit up to go and meet it. Initially, their missions had consisted of taking out the remaining HYDRA cells and labs set up across the world. The information they'd gotten after the fall of SHIELD helped a great deal in tracking and identifying the shadow organization, and eradication of its remaining members had been going well. That was, until one mission, where Steve caught sight of Bucky as he was fleeing from armed HYDRA soldiers. That was when Steve realized that HYDRA also had a mission: to kill Bucky.

Vision believed that Bucky, formerly HYDRA's Winter Soldier, held a wealth of information on the organization—even more than what was released onto the internet by Natasha—and as a result, HYDRA was eager to kill him before any of that information got out, or was passed on to someone else. Like the Avengers.

What Steve didn't get was why Bucky _kept running from him_. He knew who he was—the fact that he pulled him out of the Potomac after the fall of SHIELD proved that. So why did he run? Was he hiding something from Steve? Did he not trust him?

Steve sat down heavily on his bed and noticed the blinking alert on his computer. Waking the screen, he groaned as he caught sight of the e-mail. It was General Ross, _again_. With the one year anniversary of Sokovia's partial destruction coming up, people were calling for renewed efforts to establish some form of government oversight over the growing number of superheroes that were emerging across the globe. It was fortunate that the public, and the government, was not privy to the location of this new training facility, and that they were located in a remote, off-radar, and well-hidden area of upstate New York. Otherwise, they would be having riots everyday.

It all started with the Avengers. Seeing the damage they had wreaked in the Battle of New York, followed closely by the Battle at the Triskelion, and finally the Ultron Offensive, the government, encouraged by the public, was beginning to question the autonomy of its superheroes. What about passports? How come the Avengers could cross international boundaries without any repercussions? Who should be considered responsible for all the destruction that inevitably accompanied their battles—Ultron, Loki, the Hulk, Iron Man, all of the Avengers?

How can one man have so much power in leading a group of superpowered beings, and so much liberty in deciding when and where they would be deployed?

Steve hated that question in particular, because it implied a lack of trust that the people had in him. He wasn't some Red Skull or Hitler—he valued all that the eagle represented just as much as the next American. But it appeared that, in the many decades that he'd been locked in ice, the values of the eagle had changed. The American people had changed. And while Steve had as well, it seemed as if they were more polar opposites than supporters of the same flag.

It didn't help that Rhodes was a part of the Avengers. While he was a team player now, and Steve had found a loyal friend in him, Rhodes was still a Colonel in the USAF, and that was worrying. Steve knew all about the time when Rhodes was ordered by his superiors to take Stark's suits, and he'd actually fought his best friend and made away with one—the suit that would eventually become War Machine. That spoke volumes: if Steve was a man of the people, Rhodes was a man of the system. So far, the government hadn't asked anything of Rhodes that trespassed on his loyalties to the Avengers, but when push came to shove, Steve couldn't say with 100% certainty that the colonel would don his War Machine suit and stand up against the people that he had spent over half of his life serving.

Steve lay in his bed, rubbing his eyes. He would call General Ross tomorrow, maybe. For now, he needed sleep. Especially considering that they were going to an event hosted by Tony Stark tomorrow, and the last major one he'd attended ended up with the penthouse blown to bits by a homicidal AI.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and please review! You guys gave great ideas, and you'll see them play out in this chapter and future ones.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **CainVulsore** : _Hopefully I answered some of your questions in my A/N above. And as you saw in this chapter, I indeed will be dealing with the Accords._

 **Lizaloves:** I've _got something similar planned—it'll be next weekend, unfortunately, before I can write it however._

 **sbayless44:** _Thank you! I'm not quite sure how the asthma's going to play into this story yet, but hopefully we'll see soon! Unfortunately, I'm not familiar with the group, so they most likely won't be in this story._

 **Cooljoanna15** : _Yup, they're going to come in . . . at some point. Not quite sure yet. Haha, yup, that's Tony for you._

 **Erucchii** : _Thank you! And yes, they are near camp half-blood—you'll see in this chapter the location of the Avengers' new training facility._

 **Sugar Fox:** _Thank you for your support! And I've decided that Ant-Man will play a part in this story—it'll just be some time before I can introduce him._

 **Just Anny** : _I might give some insight into Odin's mind . . . in some chapter in the future. And hopefully, the length of this chapter is to your liking :) Let me know, and thank you for the compliment :)_

 **Hadian** : _Point well made. I actually wasn't going to put too much stress on the state of Percy's mental health, mostly because it's in the majority of Fanfics that follow Percy after the war and I felt that the idea was well and used up, but after pointing that out, I've changed my mind. Portion 2 of Chapter 6 will be very important to developing Percy's character. Thank you! And keep up the criticism—it was extremely helpful._

 **Br0kenThOrn:** _So, I've decided that I probably will include Ant-Man—awesome idea you've got, I'll look into it! Unfortunately, I'm not familiar with many of these characters—however, I will be including Black Panther and Spider-Man. And thank you for the suggestions—I'm honestly going to be stumbling around blind while writing Black Panther, because I really don't know him and I'm only writing him in because he looks pretty awesome in the Civil War trailer. Any other things I should know about him?_


	7. Anniversaries II: More Preparation

**I really can't stress it more than that. Reviews are absolutely essential to this story's life: Even if you're reading this chapter long after it's been posted (I'm currently writing this part of the A/N approximately 3 weeks after I posted it), I still want reviews. So please, review. Please.**

 **And if you don't yet understand the importance of reviewing, please read my A/N in Chapter 5.**

 **Alright, here's Part 2 of Chapter 6.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Anniversaries II: More Prep (Part 2)

Percy decided to stay at Camp for the night. It was just one of those days, where he didn't want to deal with the commute, or the old man at the train station that always looked at him funny, or the always-flirting 25 year old (at least) woman who lived across from him in his apartment building (he kept Annabeth's visits to his apartment building to a minimum solely because of that woman). It wasn't _actually_ his apartment building—it was under his mom's name. They had gotten it in June, right after he'd graduated, so that he wouldn't have to travel back and forth between Camp and the summer job that he would inevitably find to start up his own living and maybe pay for some of the optional costs that would come with college in New Rome, so that he could help with expansion efforts in Camp Jupiter. He couldn't live in the apartment alone, so when he did drop by, it was usually with his mom so that nobody would call child services. However, tomorrow would be Annabeth's birthday, where she became a legal adult, and they had decided that afterwards, they would share the apartment together and she would provide the 'adult supervision' that was legally required.

And finally, it was Monday, and that meant a session with Will before dinner. And those sessions were usually bad enough that, afterwards, he and Annabeth needed each other's company to get through the night. No, not in _that_ way.

What were they going to talk about in tonight's session . . . ? Right, Akhlys. They'd just finished up the _arai_ last week. It had taken them over a month to get through that experience.

Exposure therapy—that's what Will called it. Where they relived Tartarus and faced the experiences that were causing the trauma, the memories that were the root of their disorder—post traumatic stress disorder. Gods, Percy felt old whenever he thought that. Diagnosed with PTSD? Never would he have imagined it in a million years. He'd heard of it, on the news. War veterans and first responders inevitably suffering from an illness that was a result of the terrible experiences they had to face on the job. But himself? Annabeth?

Percy sank to the ground, covering his face with a stifled groan. What had they become—soldiers? Always preparing for the next battle, the next war? Was that the fate they were doomed to? A sword in one hand, a shield in the other, and a target on their back—for the rest of their lives?

The purpose of their daily therapy was to embrace the traumatic experiences, to learn to accept them and to turn the fear and terror into something more manageable. But what did it matter if the trauma kept coming?

What if it never stopped?

* * *

Will sat across from Percy and Annabeth—the ultimate power couple, some people at Camp joked. A son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena—a chaotic mixture of brains, brawn, sarcasm, and ingenuity that somehow managed to complement each other after years of working and fighting as a team.

It was sad, Will had come to realize very early on. That they were all so young, and yet had gone through the terrible things that they had. For the past year, it had been busy for the Apollo cabin, and it still was. The amount of research he'd had to do to learn the practice of counselling, the art of therapy . . . he'd gone from being a combat medic to a peacetime psychologist. Senior Apollo campers were busy giving daily therapy sessions for the older kids, the veterans, while the younger Apollo kids received weekly lessons on how to treat the most prevalent of illnesses and disorders that had begun to emerge in the weeks following the end of the Second Giant War. It didn't help that many of the older Apollo kids suffered from the same illnesses that they were trying to treat in other campers—a person could only see so many dead bodies before the wrongness of the entire situation turned into something far more traumatic for the observer. Two wars in as many years? That was something unheard of, and not something that people just 'bounced back' from. Really, it was no wonder that so many experienced nightmares at night and breakdowns in the middle of Capture the Flag.

Even Nico, his boyfriend. It had been difficult to get him to open up in the beginning—their relationship started off rocky and almost purely argumentative, mostly because the son of Hades was a stranger to relationships, let alone a love life. But slowly, with Will's never-ending persistence, the great black wall that Nico had built around himself began to fall away. And over the course of the past year, Will became privy to the most intimate, disturbing, and traumatic experiences that he had ever known. Percy and Annabeth survived Tartarus, yes. But they'd survived it _together._ Nico? He'd been alone, and if that wasn't horrible enough, him being a child of Hades allowed him to see the true nature of Tartarus, the landscape that had been shielded from Percy and Annabeth's eyes for the majority of the time they were there.*

It was funny, in a non-humourous way. That Will served as Nico's confidante, while Nico served as Will's. Nico had felt the deaths of hundreds of people over his lifetime, while Will had lost too many lives that had been placed in his own healing hands. They should have been the worst combination, but somehow, they were perfect for each other.

Will knew that without Nico, he would be far worse off. The same went for Percy and Annabeth.

Looking at the two again, Will almost wanted to call them a couple, just as the rest of Camp did, but he couldn't. These two were far more than that—Hell, they'd been to Tartarus and back. 'Girlfriend and boyfriend' just didn't cut it.

"Percy, are you sure you want to do it today? We can always move it to tomorrow." Annabeth said, looking at Percy with worry. They were on the beach, sitting in the warm sand, ready to start the session. They were here because the water was calming for Percy, and Will guessed that the smells and sounds of the waves were now comforting for Annabeth, having spent so much time in the company of the son of Poseidon.

Percy shook his head. "I'm fine."

Will peered at him. Annabeth told him that she'd found Percy crouching on the ground by the forest, breaking down in tears. Now, however, half an hour later . . . he looked fine. Healthy, only a little shadow under his eyes, his muscle growth back to normal. But he could see the tension in his shoulders, the shake in his right hand. Percy was _not_ fine.

But therapy couldn't stop because of a break down. Especially exposure therapy. If they pushed the session back, it just meant that whatever was bothering Percy would bother him for another 24 hours. They had to deal with it _now._

"What's wrong?" Will asked quietly.

"Nothing, I just—"

"Percy." Will nailed him with a glare, the one he'd perfected for stubborn patients.

"I'm tired!" Percy snapped.

He didn't need to say anymore. Will was very familiar with that phrase—hadn't he said that just last week, while confiding to Nico? _I'm tired of it—tired of it all. I can't do this anymore._ Will also knew just how big a hole someone could dig themselves in if they kept thinking that way. Worrying about the future was never healthy, and it was even less healthy for demigods. _Our fates are fickle_ , Will thought, and then laughed inwardly as he caught the pun.

"Stop concentrating on tomorrow, or the day after that, Percy." Will said firmly. "There's absolutely no point in worrying—think about _now_."

"I—"

Will cut across him. "You've got a great life right now—Annabeth's here, your mom and Paul got married, and you're going to be going to college in New Rome by the end of the summer. If something's going to come around and ruin that," Will said, knowing that he had to address that inevitability in a demigod's life, "then let it come, and we'll deal with it then. Right now, concentrate on the present."

Percy was silent for a moment, and Will feared that he might have gone too far—that had happened once. Will wasn't looking to destroy any more cabins.

"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to—"

"With the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present." Annabeth finished, looking at Percy in surprise. "How do you know that?"

Percy gave Annabeth a strange smile—a wistful smile, Will realized. He didn't think he'd ever seen it on Percy's face before. "I actually read the books that you recommend to me after our Ancient Greek lessons, you know. Well, sometimes."

"Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius." Will guessed. He remembered reading the few remaining scraps of the historical text a few years ago.

Percy nodded, and hugged Annabeth tighter with one arm, looking at Will. "I understand. I'm going to try and enjoy life, and not get too caught up with the future." It sounded rehearsed, like he'd been saying that to himself every day since . . . since forever.

Annabeth looked at him. "You know, that's the most intelligent thing I've heard you say since . . ."

"Since yesterday." Percy grinned.

Annabeth scoffed. "Since never."

Will watched as the two bickered good-naturedly, content to let them have this moment of happiness.

"Just wait until tomorrow." Annabeth promised, after a minute or so. "You're going to regret ever having challenged me."

Percy looked like he was trying not to smile. "We'll see. After what I've got planned for your birthday, of course."

Annabeth's eyes narrowed. "Remember what I said, Percy—nothing big."

A smile surfaced on his face. "Of course, of course."

Annabeth gave him a dangerous look. "You and I are talking about this later." Then she turned to Will, ignoring her boyfriend's ridiculous grin.

Will cleared his throat. "Okay, you decided that you wanted to talk about Akhlys next?"

The carefree atmosphere suddenly turned cold, and the smiles died away, making Will flinch inwardly. The therapy sessions that he conducted helped in the long run, but he still hated how devastating they were in the short-term.

Annabeth nodded, and Percy's eyes hardened.

Will took a deep breath. "Okay, tell what happened." They'd already told him the entire story—their horrendous trek through the Pit, all the encounters with the dozens of creatures and primordial beings, the unlikely acquaintances they'd made—even their final battle, where they'd met the very god of the Pit, Tartarus. It'd taken much prodding, coaxing, and threatening on Will's part, but they eventually recounted everything. Hearing what they'd had to go through, as well being privy to Nico's own horrific experiences, it was a wonder that Will was still sane. In a rare moment of longing, he wished that Apollo were here. But the god was missing.

Annabeth and Percy went through their encounter with the goddess of misery slowly, as if the memories pained them. Annabeth started shivering, and Percy's eyes hardened to the point where Will thought they might have turned to glass.

"I saw Percy, and he looked . . ." Annabeth faltered, and squeezed Percy's hand tighter. "He was _dead_."

They struggled through the story, unable to properly put in words the emotions they had felt when they'd turned into Death Mist. Then they reached the point where they were battling Akhlys.

"She had us trapped." Annabeth swallowed.

"And then . . ." Percy swallowed, faltering. He raked a hand through his hair. "And then I—"

Annabeth placed a hand on Percy's arm gently.

"And then I—I almost drowned her," Percy's eyes hardened to a frostbite cold and Will felt a chill go through him. He suddenly recalled something Nico had told him once while in a bitter anger. _We're all murderers, you know that? We're all murderers._ "I almost drowned her, in her own tears and poison."

The hardened and violent light in Percy's eyes shattered and he began to shake, his fists curled so tightly as his side that his knuckles were stark white. A slight tremble shook the ground.

Sitting on the beach, noticing that the waves had begun to surge violently, Will realized with dread that this would not be one of their better sessions.

. . .

Chiron gazed out over the Camp, looking very much like a sentinel armed with his bow and arrows. "Will, my dear boy, it was not your fault."

Will swallowed, shivering. He was still soaked to the bone, the salt making his nose twitch and his eyes water. He and Annabeth had barely managed to calm Percy down when the giant wave hit, crashing into the shore and reaching so far inland that the Demeter kids were complaining that all of the plants on their roof would be dead within the week because of the salt water.

The son of Poseidon had staggered off, with Annabeth keeping a firm grip on him, and the two hadn't been seen at dinner or the campfire. It was worrying, but it wasn't unusual. This had happened before, and if Will were being honest with himself, he would admit that what happened this evening wasn't nearly as bad as what had happened last month, when they were trying to get through the entire ordeal with the _arai_.

Will finally sighed. "I know. I just—I should have seen the signs." They'd all been there—the eyes, the stillness, the shaking—all of it. He'd been with them long enough that he should've noticed. Hadn't he noted, in less than a month of sessions with the two, that their asthma got significantly better as the exposure therapy progressed, leading him to draw the conclusion that their asthma also had psychological triggers—things that reminded them of Tartarus? So why hadn't he noticed this?

"Hey, Solace!" Nico marched up to the two of them, frowning darkly. "What happened? All I see is a tsunami wave rushing towards us, and rumours going around about another session with Percy and Annabeth gone bad."

Nico di Angelo had changed. Sure, he still wore an aviators jacket—Will managed to get him another one for his birthday, from a museum with some bribing, after the son of Hades had torn up his old one while delivering the Athena Parthenos—along with black jeans. But Nico was _tan._ And if that didn't speak volumes, then Will wasn't sure what would. They'd been spending more and more time together over the last year, with Nico becoming a common sight in the infirmary and the two more often than not breaking rules by sitting together at the Apollo table during meals. No longer was he the strange recluse, but the primary messenger and diplomat for relations between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. So yes, Nico di Angelo had changed.

"That's exactly what it was." Will grimaced.

Nico nodded, understanding. He was still going through his own sessions with Will, and many of them hadn't been pretty. "Just let it lie down for a while, and get back to it in a few days." He said, placing a comforting hand on Will's shoulder.

That was another thing about Nico that had changed. He didn't hate contact anymore. Mostly, anyway.

Chiron nodded to the two of them, and walked away, his tail swishing.

"So, Death Boy, got any towels?" Will asked, still shivering and drenched.

"Don't call me Death Boy!"

"Still need towels."

Nico glared at him. That was one thing about Nico that _hadn't_ changed—his chilling glare. "Not if you were dead."

Will laughed, not in the least intimidated. "Never mind, I'll dry off soon enough."

Nico sighed. "You're going to get sick." He nodded towards the mess hall pavilion. "We'll go to the campfire—I'm sure there's still some of it left."

"No need for fire—I'm hot enough."

Nico blushed and Will laughed again.

* * *

 _"Percy, STOP!"_

Percy bolted upright, gasping, the scream cutting right through his mind like a razor-sharp blade. _A dream, it was just a dream_ , he reminded himself, running a shaking hand through his hair. He looked to his side and noted with some relief that Annabeth hadn't woken up, miraculously. He rested a hand on her arm, taking comfort in her warmth and her serene face, noting that a few strays of sunlight were beginning to filter through his cabin window. It was early morning.

She was probably tired, Percy figured. They'd stayed up late last night, Annabeth comforting him as he broke down yet again. They must have fallen asleep eventually, exhausted by the evening's events.

He was still afraid to admit to himself, even though he had admitted it to Annabeth last night. He could have gotten carried away with Akhlys, could have . . . could have hurt Annabeth—that's what his nightmare had been about. And he would never forgive himself if he did.

Slowly, quietly, he got out of bed, tucking the blankets around Annabeth more securely. He looked out his window, catching the swish of a white equine tail just as it moved out of the range of the window, and smiled faintly to himself. He was almost certain that Chiron knew that he and Annabeth spent their nights together in his cabin when he decided to stay at rather than return to his apartment or his mom's. Not for 'funny business', as the Stoll often tried to catch—more 'grieving business'. Percy slept better if he was in Annabeth's company, and vice versa.

A ray of sunlight struck Percy's eye and he shook his head, clearing it of any negative thoughts. Now wasn't the time for them—today was Annabeth's birthday!

Looking back at Annabeth one last time, he quietly opened the cabin door and exited, closing it behind him as gently as possible. Then he hurried to the mess hall pavilion, where he noted with satisfaction that everything was in place.

"Everything set?" Percy whispered to the Stoll brothers, even though everyone in Camp was awake and present, save for a single person.

Travis gave the thumbs up. "Yup. We lost the cake for a few hours, but it's all good—Connor found it."

Percy didn't even bother to ask, only nodded, surveying the rest of the pavilion. Now all they had to do was wait.

* * *

"Percy?" Annabeth pulled her dagger out of its sheath, holding it low at her side. She'd lost the one Luke had given her all those years ago, but replaced it with another one that Percy gave her after the Second Giant War. "Whatever you're planning . . ." She stepped into the eerily empty mess hall pavilion, her sneakers making no noise.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

There was an explosion of sound and movement and suddenly, demigods were spilling into the pavilion holding torches of fire and wearing bright party hats. The fire in the bronze brazier where they gave burnt offerings to the gods came alive, and had somehow been manipulated into the head of an owl, its heat-white eyes burning with intelligence as licking flames formed a regal face. Small, grey owl confetti showered down onto Annabeth and she spluttered, accidently inhaling some. Was that . . . vanilla? She waved away the edible confetti as a single demigod emerged from the crowd, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Hey." Percy grinned.

Annabeth scrutinized him.

Percy's grin widened. "Happy Birthday?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes, unable to resist that ridiculous smile of his any longer. She sheathed her dagger, and wrapped her arms around his neck, locking gazes with those sea-green eyes. "Happy birthday," she agreed.

The whole pavilion erupted in cheers as the two kissed.

When they broke apart, Travis and Connor stepped forward and placed a giant mountain of cream, vanilla, and icing on the table. On the top was yet another owl . . . missing an eye.

Connor noticed Annabeth's gaze and gave a sheepish shrug. "Close encounter with Mrs. O'Leary. Travis had to toss the eye to distract her while I ran with the cake."

Outside, a tail-wagging Mrs. O'Leary gave a ground trembling _WOOF!_

"So . . ." Travis raised an absurdly long, thin sword. "Who wants to cut the cake?"

Annabeth ended up doing the honors as the rest of the campers sang the traditional song, and suffice it to say that the Demeter cabin was busy all morning baking more giant cakes to accommodate the 400+ campers and wild spirits. Festivities lasted well past noon, as the entire Camp celebrated the 18th birthday of its longest residing camper.

"11 years, I believe?" Mr. D said with indifference. "I guess congratulations are in order, Annabelle."

And of course, she was a legal adult now.

"So, I guess I have to babysit you at the apartment until you turn 18 yourself." Annabeth teased. She and Percy walked by the edge of the forest, holding hands.

"Babysit? I think it would be more accurate to call it . . ." Percy didn't know what was more accurate.

"Babysitting it is." Annabeth grinned.

Percy rolled his eyes, before remembering their plans for the evening. He checked his watch—it was 2:30. When did the party start? Right, 3:00. "I've still got to give you my birthday present."

"Percy, I don't need—"

"No, you're totally going to love this." He pulled her after him until they reached the Athena cabin. "Wear something nice and I'll meet you at the Hill in 15 minutes."

"What?" Annabeth looked at him, confused. "Where are we going?"

"Don't worry—I already told Chiron. Just think of it as a party/job interview." Seeing Annabeth's baffled look, Percy said, "Trust me—remember 15 minutes." He dashed off towards the Poseidon cabin. Once he got there, he threw on the 'smart but casual' clothing that both Annabeth and Sally had gotten for him a while back (that had been a nightmare), and then ran to Half-Blood Hill.

Annabeth was already there, wearing what she hoped would be appropriate clothing for whatever people wore to a party/job interview (seriously, only Percy would say that)—a nice grey skirt and a white blouse. She rarely worried about her image, but when it came to those rare moments of outing with Percy . . . she shuddered, hoping she wasn't turning into a child of Aphrodite. No offense intended against the goddess or her children, of course, but having to wear make-up all the time, spending dozens of hours finding the perfect clothing . . . definitely not the idea of fun for Annabeth.

"You look awesome." Percy grinned, and that instantly brightened Annabeth's day.

With Percy in the lead, they met up with Argus and his white SUV at the bottom of the Hill. Without a word, the three got into the car and Argus drove them into Manhattan, seeming to already know their destination.

"No way . . ." Annabeth breathed as the car stopped and the two got out of the car.

Percy thanked Argus, who nodded and gave Annabeth a slight smile before driving off, back to Camp.

Around them, cars honked and people conversed and ran and hurried here and there, but Annabeth's vision had gone into laser mode. In front of her, Avengers Tower towered over the rest of the skyscrapers, brilliant and shining in all its glory (or disgust, in Percy's case).

Annabeth turned to look at Percy in shock. "No way. Did you-how . . . what . . ." She was at a loss for words.

Percy grinned. "It gets better."

He led her through the revolving doors, and into a bustling foyer. The Stark Industries logo was emblazoned across the black marble floor, while holographs flashed in displays and across transparent screens, creating a constant stream of quiet babble over the conversations of employees on break and chattering receptionists.

Annabeth felt overwhelmed. This was her dream—gods, how long had she wanted this?

Percy led them to one of the receptionists, and gave his name and Annabeth's, providing the invitation card that Clint had sent him.

"Percy Jackson . . . hmmm, not on the list . . . wait, no, it seems Mr. Barton has asked for a personal invite for one Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase." The man smiled at him and waved to the elevator beside him even as it opened. "Go on right ahead."

Holding hands, the two walked into the elevator and its doors closed silently. The light at the top indicated that they were heading for _Tony Stark's Suite and Office_ on the 93rd floor. When Annabeth saw that, she nearly choked.

"We're meeting—we're meeting _Tony Stark_?" Annabeth gasped.

Percy never stopped grinning. "Yup. And there's still more to come." He checked his watch—it was 3:15. _Oh well—better late than never._

"More to come? You-Why didn't you tell me? Oh gods, I should have dressed better." Annabeth felt dismal in her clothing now, and each passing floor was like another inch closer to her doom. She wasn't a fan of Tony Stark, but, by the gods was she a fan of his ingenuity.

Percy held both her hands, looking straight in her eyes. "Relax—Annabeth, you look fine. Even better than me." He teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"I always look better than you." Annabeth said, trying to calm down. She stilled her hands, and gripped Percy's tighter. "I'm so going to kill you after this."

Percy laughed. "Just wait until you get your birthday present."

Annabeth had forgotten that it was her birthday. Hell, her entire mind seemed to be wiped clean at the moment. _Think, think—what are you going to say to him? 'Hi, I'm Annabeth Chase—', no, too normal. 'Mr. Stark, the architectural stability and artistic design of your insert full rant', oh gods, nerd much? What am I going to SAY?_

The pleasant ding of the elevator broke through her thoughts and the two of them walked out onto the penthouse. But they couldn't see much—tinted windows barred any escape left and right and a tinted glass divider emerged from the ceiling and slid down, cutting them off from walking forward. Behind them, the elevator doors closed shut. They were trapped.

Percy and Annabeth jumped as a disembodied voice spoke to them, seeming to come from everywhere.

 _"I'm sorry, but it seems that Mr. Barton's request for personal guests must be screened by Mr. Stark first. He should be here shortly._

"Friday," Annabeth breathed.

"Um, no—it's Tuesday. Your birthday, remember?" Percy looked at her, as if wondering whether she was going insane.

"No, seaweed brain—the voice. It's Friday. The _UI—_ the user interface that Tony Stark made?" Percy only gave her a blank expression and Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Jarvis was transferred to the body that was supposed to be Ultron's, and now makes up a part of the Vision's consciousness, so he uses Friday now. How can you not know this? Ultron was the biggest breakthrough in artificial intelligence since . . . since Deep Blue!" _And the creation of all the machine learning applications, and Watson, and a dozen other things._ Annabeth added mentally, like she always did when she was ready to go on a rant but knew that Percy would be asleep by the end of it.

"Oh." Percy said intelligently. "Well, I'm kinda worried about something else . . ."

"Like?"

"Well . . . Tony doesn't actually _know_ that we're coming to this party. I mean, Clint invited us, because apparently, he's supposed to bring along a friend and he chose me and said that you could come as well," Percy said quickly. "But Tony didn't personally invite us. I thought it would be okay, but this—Friday, is making a big deal out of it, so now I'm not quite so sure . . ."

Annabeth's brain made the connection. "Clint invited us, but didn't tell Tony." She closed her eyes briefly. "You brought us to a party that Tony Stark is hosting, but Tony Stark didn't invite us?" She threw up her hands—well, there went whatever possibility of meeting him, on good terms. _Forget 'Hi, I'm Annabeth Chase'—I'll probably be saying, 'Please don't arrest us—we thought we were invited. Total mistake—won't ever happen again. By the way, love your Tower!'_ _before being thrown out onto the street._

"Well, I mean, when you put it like that . . ."

"Percy!" Annabeth was about ready to tear out her hair.

Just at the moment, the tinted glass divider in front of them rose up to reveal a man in flannel shirt, brown leather jacket, and jeans. Annabeth noted the close cut hair and the way he stood. He was a fighter.

"Clint." Percy said, sounding relieved.

"Hey, Percy!" Clint grinned. "Sorry about that—forgot about Friday."

 _"I'm still obligated to alert Mr. Stark to—"_

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But Percy and Annabeth are surprise guests, and if you tell Tony, then it won't be a surprise. Right?"

Friday sounded slightly amused, if that was possible. _"Quite right, I suppose._ _I do not sense any weapons on them . . ."_

"Right, completely non-threatening." Clint ushered them out of the glass box that they had been standing in and then turned to face Annabeth.

"Heard a lot about you, kid. Clint Barton," He held out his hand and Annabeth shook it, feeling the weathered grip of his palm. _Well, he is an archer, after all,_ she thought.

Annabeth smiled, not bothering to point out that she was an adult now. "Nice to meet you, Mr.—"

"No, enough with the misters—Percy was bad enough. Call me Clint."

"Well then—nice to meet you Clint."

"Same goes with you. Now," Clint rubbed his hands together in a conspiratorial way. "Let's go and give Tony a pleasant surprise, shall we?" He led them down a glass corridor. On either side, Annabeth looked down to see several lounging areas, along with a huge office and lab above.

And the host of the party was right there in one of the many lounging areas, conversing with a man and woman.

"Hey, Tony—look who I brought." Clint called out.

Tony Stark turned and blanched.

"Friends of yours, Stark?" The blonde man that Tony had been talking to appraised the duo, giving them a slight smile.

"Uhhh . . ." Tony took a big gulp from the glass of wine in his hand.

"I thought we agreed that fans weren't going to be invited this time." Another man said, walking into the room with a glass in his hand.

"I thought we did, too." Tony turned to Clint, giving him a disbelieving look. "You _invited_ them here? That's what Friday was fussing about?"

"Ummm, why do I get the feeling that we're not welcome?" Percy asked, nervously.

"Maybe because I said no bringing along your friends this time—remember, _Clint_?" Tony said, the hint of a threat in his tone. "No offense, kids." He added offhandedly.

Clint smiled. "Yup. But they're not just my friends—they're yours too. Everybody—meet Tony's new fighting instructor and his girlfriend, Percy and Annabeth."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and please review!**

 **\- 100th Century**


	8. Anniversaries III: Deaths and Birthdays

**Alright, so this chapter was definitely difficult to write. Expanding the cast from 3-4 characters in one scene, to around 10 people is a big leap. Let me know how it turns out, and suggestions are always welcome!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Anniversaries III: A Death, a Birthday, and A Little Chaos In-Between**

Seeing Tony, Percy had wanted to open his arms wide and shout, "Surprise!", but instead, he was nervous. It appeared that Clint hadn't just been keeping secrets from Tony, but Percy as well: the archer had neglected to mention that the _entire Avengers team_ would also be present at this party. Surrounded by people who were clearly fighters made Percy restless, and he itched to draw Riptide. He didn't, of course— _that_ would be a disaster.

Instead, he mustered a grin and a small wave. "Uh, hi." Beside him, Annabeth shifted uneasily.

The blonde man beside Tony frowned. "Fighting instructor?" He was now looking at them skeptically, and Percy knew that he didn't quite believe it—they looked young, and Percy wasn't even an adult yet. Why ever would the great Tony Stark end up under his tutelage? But that wasn't what caught the majority of Percy's attention, however—it was the man's broad shoulders and well-muscled torso and arms, which could be clearly seen from the conforming white t-shirt that he wore. The guy wasn't huge, nor bulky—but Percy could tell he was _strong._

The woman beside him also appraised them critically. She had dark red curls and a slim build. Nevertheless, Percy had heard enough from Tony to recognize her and know that she wasn't someone to be messed with.

The man who had just walked into the room placed his glass on a table and clapped Tony on the back. "Dude, you got a fighting instructor? Desperate much?" He had dark skin and sounded humoured at the moment, but Percy could tell that even he was assessing the two of them.

Tony sighed, looking at Clint, as if he was deciding whether or not to strangle the man. "Yes, Rhodey, he's my instructor. And no, I wasn't desperate."

"Perhaps you should make some introductions, Tony," a melodic voice called out from above.

Percy tilted his head back to look up, and stared, his jaw dropping.

Beside him, Annabeth gasped quietly. "The Vision."

. . .

Annabeth didn't think she had ever seen anything so . . . beautiful. The man (if you could call him one) drifting down towards them as if he were as light as a feather, wore no clothes, but that wasn't a problem—his perfectly sculpted body was the ultimate fusion between Vibranium and organic material, giving him the appearance that he was wearing a skin-tight, full-body suit. While the skin of his face was a bright metallic red, along with his hands and feet to create the impression of gloves and boots, the rest of his body was primarily a dark teal. And situated in the centre of his forehead was a yellow gem. Annabeth longed to take a closer look at it—this was one of the many things about Vision that no media could obtain information about. The Avengers remained silent on the subject, and some concluded that it was simply a jewel, a sign of the creature's vanity.

What gave Annabeth shivers down her back was the Vision's eyes—they were human.

"Vision," someone called out. "His name is Vision."

Annabeth broke out of her trance and turned to face a girl who seemed about her own age. She wore a plain black dress, as if she were about to attend a funeral.

"His name is Vision." She repeated.

With the girl's thick European accent, Annabeth struggled at first to understand her words. Then they finally made themselves clear and realization dawned on Annabeth's face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. Vision," she corrected herself, looking at the man and feeling confused—it was difficult to decide whether or not to call this . . . being, a man or not. On one hand, it felt wrong not to. On the other, Vision seemed far beyond humanity. _How were you made?_ Annabeth wanted to ask Vision, looking at this synthetic being, at his Vibranium-enriched body. _How did you come to be?_

"That's alright—I take no offense." Vision said in his melodic voice, smiling gently at her as his feet set down on the ground. Behind him, his golden cape fluttered, despite the fact that there was no current in the room, not even a breeze. Annabeth noted that the cape was attached to his very skin.

"You should." The girl said, casting a dark look at the man who had clapped Tony on the back—Rhodey. Under Wanda's gaze, his head seemed to duck in shame for a moment.

Silence followed her rebuke.

. . .

Steve decided that the awkward moment had extended long enough and stepped forward to introduce himself. Under different circumstances, he might have been reluctant to do so, but he trusted Clint not to have brought anybody who might pose a danger. "Steve Rogers."

Percy, having tore his eyes away from Vision, shook his proffered hand. "Percy. Percy Jackson."

Steve wondered how he could be giving Tony combat lessons—he looked like he was still in high school, and with his tousled black hair and striking green eyes, it seemed like surfing or skateboarding was more likely to be his activity of choice, rather than a teaching job. And where did he learn to fight in the first place?

Annabeth shook his hand, as well, "Annabeth Chase."

Steve nodded. "Nice to meet you." And it was. It had taken many months for the Avengers team to get used to Vision, especially Rhodes, whom Wanada had just chastised. Even Steve had found it difficult. And yet this girl, with stormy grey eyes that were just as striking as her boyfriend's, seemed ready to accept Vision for who he was, even though she was clearly confused—Steve could understand the feeling. For many weeks, Steve had questioned whether Vision was more robot or human, until he came to the conclusion that it _didn't matter_. The only person who had taken to Vision right away, and still was the only person to have done so, was Wanda. Starting as an outcast in the group, primarily because people were well-versed in the story of how she incapacitated the Avengers and were wary of her powers, the only person willing to talk to her, besides Steve and Clint, was the other outcast of the team: Vision. And they had bonded quickly.

Steve suspected that the many human tendencies and lessons that Vision picked up in the beginning were a result of Wanda spending hours with him when the team wasn't training. He often saw them walking the grounds of the training facility together, as well as spending their breaks in the training rooms because the temperature dropped to below zero whenever one of them entered the break room. The first time Steve heard Vision laugh was in Wanda's company.

It wasn't until they entered their fourth month of training that Rhodes and the staff at the training facility started opening up to the duo, after they salvaged a mission that would have otherwise ended tragically for the colonel.

Steve still wasn't sure why Rhodes had had, and still had, so much trouble accepting Vision, but it was good to see that he was at least trying to be friendlier. It helped (or perhaps it didn't) that Wanda always gave him the evil eye whenever he referred to Vision as 'the Vision'.

Steve stepped back and gestured to Natasha. "This is Natasha Romanoff." The redhead nodded to the both of them, deciding to spare a small smile to ease their evident unease.

"It appears you're already familiar with Vision." Steve gestured to him. "And his overprotective friend here is Wanda."

"Wanda Maximoff." The girl said in her thick accent.

. . .

Annabeth nearly took a step back from her as a sudden dagger of fear pierced her and Percy shifted as well, sensing her unease. Only now was she beginning to appreciate the potentially very dangerous situation that Percy had put them in. They were surrounded—by a group of distinctly unique and very powerful people. Annabeth had read up on them, entirely intrigued with how they came to be. Some of them were the culmination of century-defining scientific breakthroughs, others were responsible for century-defining scientific breakthroughs—one wasn't even human. And they were all very perceptive. She could see it in their critical gazes, in the looks they gave each other, and in this girl's very being. If she and Percy weren't careful, the existence of their world, which had been kept well and hidden for the last three thousand years, would be gone in the flash of a second. Annabeth shuddered inwardly, unwilling to think of the ramifications of such a discovery. She calmed her nerves and took ahold of her emotions. "Is it true . . . that you can read minds?"

Something flashed across Wanda's face and she pursed her lips. "Yes. But I do not use those powers anymore—I learned my lesson."

Annabeth realized that the strange expression on Wanda's face was one of pain. Why? Annabeth frowned, thinking, and realized it quickly enough—the girl didn't like being defined by her powers. It was obvious enough; they no doubt isolated her—nobody wanted their mind invaded, their most private thoughts heard and listened to. Didn't she herself fear it as well? Didn't she fear that this girl, with her unusual powers, would be able to hear her thoughts and learn her other identity?

Annabeth cleared her mind, ready to give this girl a chance. A chance that didn't involve prejudice, hasty assumptions, and ill judgements. Anyone deserved that, at least. "I know that your brother died a year ago, while you fought Ultron. I'm sorry." She couldn't bring herself to be sorry for the loss of a boy she never knew, but she could be sorry for this girl and the pain she had to have lived through. Losing family . . . it had happened too many times for Annabeth. _Gods of Olympus . . . too many times._

Wanda nodded. "I miss him."

Clint went over, hugging her with one arm, and Wanda leaned into his embrace. The two were clearly very close.

Steve shifted, giving them a moment. "This is James Rhodes," he gestured to the man who had been on the receiving end of Wanda's glare.

"But you can just call me Rhodey—I rarely use James nowadays." He said, smiling.

Steve looked around, frowning. "Sam is also here, I'm just not sure where . . ."

"Up here!" Someone called from one of the lounges in one of the overhead rooms. "And whatever is going on down there better be good, cuz I'm busy preening my wings."

Annabeth frowned. "What?"

"He's half-bird." Wanda said in a conspiratorial whisper, having broken away from Clint.

"He has a suit with wings." Steve corrected, rolling his eyes. "Probably cleaning it at the moment."

"I like to think I'm half-bird." A man said as he walked down a set of glass stairs connecting the two floors. It was an interesting layout: the penthouse was made up of two floors, but they were entirely open to one another—one could choose to opt out of the stairs and jump down from the top floor to the lower floor, if it didn't risk the ire of a certain billionaire. In fact, standing on the lower floor, Annabeth only had to crane her neck back a little to see a bar on the upper floor to her right and a lounge to her left.

"Fortunately, you're not." Natasha said. "We've already got one guy who thinks he's a bird," she nodded to Clint. "We don't need a half-bird as well."

Sam shrugged. He was shorter than Steve, and didn't have nearly as big a build as him, but Annabeth could still see the muscle, his gait, his straight back. Yet another man of uniform, besides Rhodes. "Each to their own beliefs."

"And that's everyone." Steve said, thinking, _except Banner._

"You forgot me." Tony spoke up, and Annabeth blinked. She _had_ nearly forgotten about him, he'd been so quiet.

"Well, it seems like you guys are already well-acquainted." Steve looked at him. "Mind explaining how you guys met?"

Tony took another sip from his glass. "Yes."

"That's fine—I can explain just as well." Clint said with a grin, and led the group to a lounge room. "Please sit, make yourself comfortable."

"Yes, go ahead." Tony said, sinking down into a couch with his glass of wine. "It's not like this is my home, or that I own this building."

"It's called Avengers Tower for a reason." Sam pointed out, sitting beside Steve on the opposite couch.

"Because those aliens decided to blast off every letter of my name and conveniently left the A, and I was too lazy to get it fixed." Tony shot back.

"Tony, relax." Rhodes sat down beside his friend, shaking his head.

"Yes, please. I'm going to get grey hairs if I keep hearing you complain." Clint sunk down in a single seat, while Wanda perched on its arm rest. Vision contented himself with hovering by her side, his cape still flowing with ghostly ripples.

Percy gave Annabeth a look, and she stifled a laugh, understanding. They argued like an entire group of old married couples. _They're just as bad as Percy and I,_ she thought. And it was evident that many of the rumours about Tony were true.

"Drink?" Tony pointed to the bottle of alcohol on the table. "I know you turned 18 today."

Evidently, he wasn't aware of the legal drinking age. That, or he didn't care.

Annabeth wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you." She briefly wondered how he knew her birthday, and her thoughts turned to Percy—did he _tell_ Tony Stark?

"Good choice." Clint said, giving Annabeth an approving nod.

"18?" Steve blinked, looking slightly surprised. "Congratulations. Finally an adult—how does it feel?"

"Awesome." She admitted. To have lived to adulthood . . . that was something any demigod could be proud of. "And liberating."

"Are you an adult too, or . . . ?" Sam asked Percy.

Percy shook his head. "No—gotta wait till August."

"How long have you guys been together?" He asked, interested.

The two looked at each other, and Annabeth said, "About two years now." Wow, hearing that come out of her mouth sounded odd, to say the least. So much had happened the last two years.

Steve leaned back against the couch. "Kids seem to be dating at a younger and younger age with each generation."

"We've been friends for a long time." Percy said, a little defensive.

Annabeth only tilted her head, recalling what she knew about the former soldier and understanding the reference. "Right, you're from the mid-1900s. I can only imagine the cultural shock." She didn't mention that she also had a first-hand account from Nico, when he was in the mood to divulge such information—which wasn't often.

"It's gotten easier." Steve shrugged.

"He's gone from an ancient relic in the Smithsonian to a rusted penny in a pawnshop." Natasha joked. While Annabeth felt unease rise within her every time she looked at the redhead, she couldn't help but admire her strength—despite being in a male-dominated group, she was clearly respected as her own person.

Sam snorted. "A rusted penny? Seeing what he did to his first car, I think that's a little modest."

"Don't get me started on automatic transmissions—that's why I got a motorcycle." Steve shook his head. "We can continue this later— _after_ Tony explains to us how he met Percy and Annabeth."

"Cap, you're making way too big of a deal out of this." Tony sighed. "This is my first time meeting Annabeth, just like all of you. And I simply hired Percy to give me a few lessons—that's it."

"Tony—look around you." Rhodes gestured with his hands. "Any of us could have taught you."

Everyone could hear the implied meaning beneath his words. _And we could have done it better._

. . .

Tony, bless his heart, came to Percy's defence. "You guys would be too busy laughing at me to teach me anything. And plus, Percy's got very good credentials. Learned under an old guru from Greece since he was 10."

Percy winced inwardly, but didn't dispute him. Tony wasn't wrong—not quite, anyway. When applying for the instructor position at the studio, he'd had to provide some kind of explanation for his fighting skills, and with the help of Annabeth, had fabricated a story about a worldly man with Greek roots coming to settle down in New York, and taking up Percy as his student. The story was more than a little odd, and even more vague, but with further explanation that the old man had died a year ago, the people at the studio couldn't really question his story, and they didn't—simply hired him on the spot after he did a small demonstration with his soon-to-be boss in a quick spar of wooden swords.

Tony must have got his hands on the studio's electronic records while considering Percy as a potentially suitable instructor—probably ran an entire background check that the NYPD would be jealous of. He'd probably done the same with Annabeth as well—that would be the only way that he'd know it was Annabeth's birthday.

Rhodes only shrugged, and Percy felt annoyance. Of course, putting on a full display of his skills wouldn't be a very smart idea, but he seriously wanted to wipe away the doubt and skepticism that was clearly on everyone's mind.

"Well, that's good enough for me." Sam said, smiling and unknowingly landing himself in Percy's good graces. Tony poured himself more wine, oblivious to Steve's slight frown. "Are you guys staying for the evening?"

"Um, yes, I think so . . ." Annabeth looked at Percy, and he suddenly remembered the reason as to why they'd come in the first place.

"Right!" Percy jumped up from the couch. "Uh, yeah, we're staying. If that's alright with you guys."

"More than alright." Sam flashed him a grin. "It's rare meeting people who don't drool over us or yell that we belong in prison at first sight."

"Percy actually didn't recognize me at our first lesson!" Tony said, his glass refilled. "Can you believe that?"

Rhodes laughed. "No, but thank goodness. Your ego is already large enough as is."

"A streak longer than the Tower." Annabeth murmured, recalling her conversation with Percy last week.

To her eternal embarrassment, there were more than a few chuckles as the group caught the words. Annabeth blushed slightly, but it was clear she was uncomfortable. Percy understood—they were having a casual conversation, sure, but it was with a group of very powerful people. That usually killed the casual atmosphere.

Percy looked at Tony, trying to ask him a question with his eyes and hoping that the man would get the gist of what he was saying. Tony didn't.

"The thing, that we've been talking about for the last few days?" Percy said, trying to get him to understand without ruining the surprise. "We didn't just come because Clint invited us."

Clint pouted, but it was to hide a smile—Percy had already explained to him what he was planning for his girlfriend. "You didn't?"

Percy rolled his eyes at him just as realization dawned on Tony's face. "Oh, yes, _that_ thing. Right."

Everybody's attention was on them now, curious to see what was unfolding.

Percy gave an exasperated sigh, avoiding Annabeth's bewildered expression, and said. "Yes, _that._ "

"Well . . ." Tony turned to Annabeth. "I've heard good things about you from Percy, and I'm actually starting a global process to hire a thousand workers or so to help build new additions at some of my locations—a few in the US, a couple in Europe, Asia, and Africa. Percy here said that you were looking for a job in my company, and he took the initiative of sending a record of your credentials and some samples of the work you've done so far, and I've got to admit—you look like a very promising candidate for some architectural designing positions."

Annabeth was staring at him, as if she couldn't quite believe her ears.

Tony continued on. "The first jobs are opening up in LA, at Stark Industries Headquarters, and I know from Percy that you're looking specifically for a job here at the Tower, but I'll be honest with you—you'd have a lot more fun in California than here in New York, and I'm willing to pay for some of the costs of living in that ridiculously overpriced state—residence, tuition, stuff like that. Of course, there's still the interview and the tests you'd have to go through, and I'd like to look a little more at the work you've done, perhaps get a professional opinion, and all that other messy stuff, but Percy's pretty much got the diving board set up. All you've got to do is step forward." Tony gave her a small smile, and then ruined it with a sip of more alcohol.

There was silence, in which everyone was looking at Annabeth to see her reaction.

But Annabeth didn't even see them, only Percy. He was grinning, his green eyes bright. She tried to still her hands, the riot of emotions within her.

"You-you . . . _by the gods_ —you spoke to _him_ and . . ." Annabeth felt like she was hyperventilating.

Percy's grin broadened. "Good?"

Annabeth laughed out loud, her emotions shooting off like fireworks, and threw her arms around Percy. "Thank you, Percy, thank you so much." She whispered, hugging him tighter.

Percy hugged back just as tightly, speaking softly, "Happy birthday, wise girl."

. . .

Steve smiled, unable to help himself as the two embraced. Percy was a great guy, going to those lengths to make Annabeth's dream come true—it was sweet. People weren't like that anymore, Steve had come to notice, and the dynamic between couples had also changed over the years, so it was nice to see genuine love when it came along. He could hear them talking quietly, but he tuned out the words, respecting their privacy.

When they broke apart, Percy joked, "Does that mean I'm off the hook for all the times I came late to a date?"

Annabeth snorted, even though she was still smiling widely. "Not a chance."

Everyone laughed, the infectious happy mood of the couple touching each of them and brightening the atmosphere. The two had arrived half an hour after they'd finished mourning Pietro's death anniversary, and looking at Wanda, Steve could tell that this was what they needed. Seeing someone else's happiness was sometimes the best cure for your own pain. It was a reminder that all was not wrong in the world.

"You guys are adorable." Tony said, breaking the contented silence. He walked away, to the bar on the upper floor.

Steve noticed as Clint rolled his eyes, sharing a shake of the head with Percy.

Rhodes trailed after Tony, asking him something, while Wanda and Vision drifted away, deep in discussion. The considerably smaller group that remained sitting among the couches settled into comfortable conversation.

"So, how do you guys know each other?" Steve asked, looking between Clint and Percy.

"I found out about Tony's lessons when they started last week," Clint explained, grinning. "I actually have a video . . ." He took out his phone, bringing up a video— _the_ video. The one that he took of the first lesson Percy gave Tony.

. . .

When Tony returned about 20 minutes later, the entire group was sprawled across the couches, laughing with tears in their eyes.

"I have to give it to you Percy—very few would be willing to actually strike at Tony Stark." Sam laughed as the Tony on the screen got back onto his feet. "Except maybe Natasha."

"Maybe I'll come to your next lesson and help out." Natasha said to Percy, winking.

"Definitely—the more the merrier." Clint laughed. "For all but one, anyways."

"It's a date." Percy agreed, falling into their habitual banter. He felt more comfortable—sharing that video had revealed to one another a commonality: a willingness to laugh at Tony's expense.

"I expected better from you, Clint." Tony said, shaking his head when he realized what they were watching. He sounded resigned to a fate of watching his reputation crumble away.

Percy and Annabeth pursed their lips, holding back their smiles and laughter, if only because Tony was currently paying Percy and might soon be Annabeth's boss.

"Hey, Pepper, how are you?" Rhodes voice drifted in from the adjoining room, and a few moments later, he and a woman dressed smartly in business attire, holding a tablet in one hand, were striding into the lounge room, deep in lively discussion.

"Yes, I've been swamped with getting Project Retreat off the ground . . . yes, the one where we're adding a new wing to all our major locations—I know, don't give me that look—Tony's the one who named it." The woman finally noticed that she had walked in on their small group. "And speak of the devil—here he is." She traded small greetings with everyone before noticing Percy and Annabeth. She gave the two of them a warm smile. "And I don't think we've met before."

Percy and Annabeth got to their feet. "Annabeth, and this is Percy."

She beamed. "Nice to meet you—Pepper Potts." She embraced the two of them, rather than shaking hands. "Thank you for taking on Tony as your client, Percy—I can only imagine how hard that must have been. How are you finding yourselves? Good? I know Tony isn't the greatest host at times—let me know if that ever becomes a problem." She winked.

"That was uncalled for." Tony frowned, walking to Pepper's side and wrapping an arm around her waist. "I've hosted enough parties—I think I know what I'm doing."

"Hmm." Pepper said, indulging in her boyfriend's belief. "I've been meaning to ask you—what are pictures of a temple and arches doing in our files? Please tell me you haven't been dabbling in architecture again—I don't want to offend another CEO, prime minister, or religious leader."

"Those aren't mine." Tony said. "They're Annabeth's—she designed them. Percy sent them to me." Annabeth looked at Percy, her jaw dropping. _Percy sent Tony Stark pictures of my works?_ "Remember you said we needed to start recruiting designers for Project Retreat? Well, Annabeth might be the perfect candidate for Headquarters. A little young," Tony admitted, looking at her, "but then again, I started young, didn't I?"

Pepper turned to look at Annabeth, looking rather astonished. "You designed them?" Her fingers started flying across the transparent tablet that she'd been holding, and then the pictures of the temple and arches were drawn up. "These?" Annabeth nodded, swelling with pride when she heard the awe in Pepper's voice. "They're beautiful! Where did you learn to do this? Is there any way that we can see these in person?"

"Mostly on my free time." Annabeth admitted, not mentioning that she also worked at Olympus. "I've been obsessed with architecture for a long time. And about seeing them . . ."

"She actually did them for a very wealthy family," Percy jumped in, earning a grateful look from Annabeth. "Who wants to keep their privacy, but who was willing to let us share with you some pictures."

"Oh, that's too bad. But still—these are absolutely beautiful! You must come to LA and help us with the new wing—it would be a great experience for you, and I would love to work with you, maybe share tips on building designs!" Pepper beamed in such a way that Annabeth couldn't resist the offer.

Apparently, it had the same effect on Tony, because he shrugged, downed the rest of his drink and looked at Annabeth, saying, "Well then—you're hired, kid. Welcome to Stark Industries."

Annabeth couldn't believe her ears. "W-what? But, what about the tests? And the interview and—"

Tony waved away the rest of her words. "I think this meeting was a good enough interview, don't you? And Pepper's got a good professional opinion, she helped to design the majority of our company's buildings, after all—if you're good in her books, then you've passed all the tests. It's on you now, to decide whether or not to accept the job."

Annabeth turned to Pepper, speechless yet again. She couldn't remember any day where she'd been stunned wordless and silent so many times. But it turns out that she didn't need to speak—Pepper simply gave her one of her warm smiles, a smile that reminded Annabeth of Camp and her dad, and enclosed her in a hug.

Around them, their new acquaintances began clapping, and Sam gave a loud whoop.

"No need to thank me," Pepper said, smiling, when they broke apart. "You're obviously a very talented young lady. I can't wait to work with you in California."

"Well, I guess that means you're moving to LA." Tony said.

Percy nodded, grinning. "We were actually already planning to go to California for college, so the move is no problem."

Tony blinked, slightly surprised. Percy hadn't mentioned anything about going to college in California. Then again, he hadn't really told him anything about where he'd been planning to go after the summer ended. "Really? That's great! Which college are you going to? UCLA? Berkeley?"

Percy felt alarm, realizing his mistake, and traded the most imperceptible of looks with Annabeth. What could he say? Usually, when people at Goode asked where he was going or where he went for the summer, he gave the vaguest replies he could, knowing that they wouldn't actually come searching for him. With Tony, however, it was different. This guy had more than enough resources to track down one person. "Uh . . . it's actually, kind of like a special school . . ."

"Oh god, I have to call my parents and tell them about the great news!" Annabeth said suddenly, pulling out her phone and mustering an ecstatic smile. "They're going to be so happy! And they'll probably want to thank Percy, as well!"

"Go on." Pepper smiled. "I'm sure they'll be very proud. I'd better go and get back to the offices downstairs, as well." She said to Tony.

"Thanks!" And then Annabeth had grabbed Percy by the arm and was practically dragging him out of the room.

. . .

"Too close." Annabeth said, stilling her shaking hands. They had found an empty corridor and were now trying to recollect themselves. "Way too close, Percy."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Percy groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "I wasn't thinking."

"It can't happen again," Annabeth said, giving him a grim look. "Otherwise . . ."

This group was too perceptive for their own good. She felt threatened, surrounded by people who weren't necessarily the enemy, but who could potentially become the enemy. And the worse part was that they had gotten comfortable and cozy in the last hour, started creating relationships and links, to the point where Annabeth could no longer consider it comfort, but a drop in their guard. She couldn't look at these people and see friends—not entirely. The risk was too great.

Percy slid down the wall, ending up sitting on the ground. "Yeah, I know."

Annabeth sighed. "I know you know. It's just . . . I'm not so sure about this, Percy. If I take this job, the questions aren't going to stop. What if I slip up, or they get too curious, or—"

Percy shook his head, rising to his feet. "Uh uh, no, don't think like that. We've been to Tartarus and back—these guys aren't any trouble in comparison. We'll find a way—use the Mist if we have to. No matter what, you're taking that job—you've wanted it since Tony built that arc thing."

Annabeth laughed. "Arc reactor." She kissed Percy on the cheek. "You're right. I'm going to go and call my parents—they'll probably want to know about this, actually. And Percy," Annabeth looked at him straight in the eye. "Thank you. None of this could have happened without you."

"I know." Percy grinned while Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I'd better go back—we've been gone pretty long, and they might start getting suspicious."

. . .

Wanda traded a questioning look with Vision, and they walked towards the corridor, looking around cautiously. They came across Annabeth on her phone, chatting happily with two people whom Wanda assumed were her parents. When Annabeth saw the two of them, she smiled and gave a small wave.

Wanda smiled back, and they retreated out of the corridor, giving the girl her privacy.

"They're hiding something." Wanda murmured, as they strolled into an empty room. "Mist? Tartarus?"

"A location in the Underworld in classic Greek mythology." Vision confirmed, his access to the World Wide Web granting him the information instantly.

"It's code for something, then."

"They will tell us, if they choose to, in their own time." Vision said. "We should respect their privacy and secrets. They do not seem dangerous, and they have Tony's trust."

Wanda knew enough about secrets from having spent years in other people's minds. She knew how people coveted them, were willing to spend vast amounts of money and time to keep them safe and hidden. She nodded, even though she could feel her curiosity burning within her. "You're right, I suppose."

And Vision, whose knowledge system was largely based upon what he learned from the internet, was unable to resist saying the cliché that popped up in his mind.

"Only time will tell."

. . .

Percy waited another few seconds before rounding the corner and returning to the lounge where they had left hastily five minutes before.

He frowned when he saw the lounge empty. In fact, the penthouse was eerily silent.

"Hey, Percy!"

He looked around, searching for the noise, when he noticed a door on the other side of the lounge. And the door led to . . . No way.

The entire group was outside, on the part of the Avengers Tower that jutted out and appeared to serve as some sort of landing pad for small aircraft.

He carefully made his way outside, briefly wondering if he was high enough that Zeus might consider striking him down. Hopefully not. "What are you all doing out here?"

"Celebrating Vision's birthday!" Wanda said, beaming, holding a cake in her hand. Fortunately, it wasn't a very windy day, otherwise the cake would have been blown right out of her hand.

"But out here?"

Tony shrugged. "I've wanted to do something out here for ages. Should probably install some kind of railing, but for now . . . just stay away from the edges. I don't want to get out my suit at the moment."

"Where's Annabeth?" Steve asked. "Still talking to her parents?"

Percy nodded. "They're pretty excited." He turned to Tony. "I just wanted to say: thank you, really."

Tony shrugged. "It was no biggie. Really, I'm the one who's going to benefit from such a talented employee."

"This is quite unnecessary." Vision said, breaking into the conversation, standing beside Wanda. He looked rather uncomfortable, his cape flat and heavy, and uneasiness clear on his face. "My birthday was yesterday, as well."

"Nonsense." Tony said, making it quite clear that he had no choice. "Birthdays are always fun."

"I've had very different experiences." Steve said, shaking his head, clearly thinking deeply.

"I can't remember the last time I attended a birthday party." Natasha mused.

"You _don't_ attend birthday parties." Clint said, rolling his eyes. "You even forgot _my_ birthday last year."

"Maybe because we were stuck in a sinking submarine," Natasha said, annoyed. "And Sam and James were too busy arguing to help." Natasha was one of the few people who still referred to Rhodes by his first name, and he was wise enough not to correct her.

"Okay, breaking one of my wings was not cool." Sam said defensively.

"Oh, and tampering with my repulsors was totally fine?" Rhodes shook his head, rolling his eyes even though he was grinning.

"I apologized for that." Sam pointed out, even though he was grinning now, as well.

"By replacing my knife—which you broke the month before. How do you even do that—break a _tactical knife_?"

Sam slung his arms around Rhodes' shoulders. "That, my friend, is a secret."

Everyone laughed at that.

"And _that_ is why I forgot about your birthday," Natasha said, as if everything that they'd just said made complete sense.

Steve saw Percy's very confused face, and said quietly, "I'll tell you the whole story later."

"We can argue later," Wanda said, echoing Steve's words. "After the birthday, yes?"

Everybody agreed, and with Wanda in the lead, they began to sing Happy Birthday.

It was sung badly, to say the least, except for in the cases of Wanda and oddly enough, Vision. Under the attention of many compliments about his smooth, alto voice from his friends, Vision excused himself and went to the bar to get a knife ("I'm not letting you use my tactical knife to cut a _cake_ ," Rhodes had said, appalled, when Wanda made the suggestion).

Percy almost expected to get a sense of déjà vu, considering that he'd only just finished a multi-hour long celebration of Annabeth's birthday this afternoon, but he didn't. The experience was too different, but it was a good kind of different. Sure, he felt a little alienated, if only because he still didn't know this group very well, but he was starting to become familiar with Natasha's dry humour and piercing gaze, and the stable and grounded vibes that Steve gave off, and even Rhodes' constant banter with Sam (though he still wasn't quite ready to forgive Rhodes for thinking Percy to be beneath him). He found himself grinning, and without a clear reason as to why—that was always the best kind of grin. The one that rose on the face without prompt or evident cause, the natural kind that he usually only shared with Annabeth.

They had just started to sing the Happy Birthday song again in their dissonant array of voices, just to annoy Vision, who had yet to return from the bar, when a dying bird fell onto the landing pad, just to the left of Percy.

Later, they would conclude that it had been suffering from a very bad infection, and that it was a miracle that it had flew as high as it did.

At that moment, however, Percy didn't notice any of those details. He only noticed the smell—that smell of putrid, decaying flesh. Of rotten eggs. Of sulphur. He staggered back, but the air was making him sluggish and the ground was moving—throbbing.

Acrid, sulphurous air and a hideous, repulsing skin.

Tartarus.

He should have dealt with his nightmare the moment he'd had it. Should have spent the entire night with Will, mulling over and tearing apart, piece by piece, his encounter with Akhlys—to turn the experience neutral and harmless. But he hadn't, and terrible and horrific memories that he'd been struggling to keep under lock and key in the back of his mind had broken out of their prison and were now wreaking havoc on his thoughts, torturing his senses—triggering his asthma.

He didn't hear the shouts, nor the cries of alarm.

He didn't even feel the pulsing ground fall away from beneath him as he toppled over the edge and plummeted the 1140 feet

down,

down,

down,

to the streets below.

* * *

 **. . . Vision's still at the bar, Sam doesn't have his wing pack on him, Wanda can barely fly, and Tony and Rhodes' suits are tucked safely away . . .**

 **Reactions and thoughts? Questions?**

 **Lizaloves: I know you asked for something similar to this in your review from Chapter 5, and I've been planning this for some time. Unfortunately, you'll have to wait a teensy bit longer before you can see how it unfolds.**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Guest (April 14th):** _Thank you!_

 **MoonLightNinja:** _Haha, yup!_

 **Achievement:** _Thank you! Your review was extremely helpful and informative-I sometimes go back and read over earlier chapters to make corrections, and I've addressed the "umpteenth" problem. Yes, I like to pay attention to character development-I find that it's too difficult to write a story if you don't. Let me know if it ever gets boring-that's my primary concern in relation to this style of narration._

 **LostHeroGuide:** _Your review was awesome to read-thank you! And I've left a review, per your request :)_

 **Cooljoanna15:** _Haha, yup, that was my reaction while writing the scene. And yes, they have been invited!_


	9. Anniversaries IV: Trouble

**So, early update! Don't get too comfortable—I'm only speeding up my updating schedule because of Captain America: Civil War. As some of you may know,** ** _Civil War_** **is a movie that comes out on May 6** **th** **. Yes,** ** _this upcoming_** **May 6** **th** **. And as some of you may have already guessed, I'll be dealing with the issue of the Civil War and the Sokovian Accords within this story. As a result, I want to have the 'Civil War' plotline properly established (or at least partially established) before the movie is released, and expectations are developed for this story.**

 **I would apologize for the cliff hanger from the last chapter, but I'd be lying—it was fun to write :)**

 **Thank you to all of you who have followed, favourited, and most of all, reviewed.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Anniversaries IV: Trouble

It all happened so fast. One moment they were singing, waiting for Vision to return, and the next, a bird had fallen onto the landing pad and Percy was suddenly staggering away from them, his mind becoming so severely agitated that Wanda nearly collapsed, momentarily incapacitated by the sudden and overwhelming pulse of emotions that he threw off.

"Steve!" Clint shouted, jumping forward, noticing what all the others were failing to see in their confusion and shock to Percy's sudden change in demeanor. "Grab him!"

But the captain was already lunging forward, his hand outstretched, reaching for Percy's flailing arm. His fingers grazed the boy's skin, before he toppled over the edge and was gone.

Wanda cried out and the entire group ran to the edge just as Tony pushed past Steve and jumped off the Tower, yelling, "Friday, suit deployment NOW!"

Even as he was falling, he continued to shout more orders, but Wanda no longer heard the words—she was staring at the increasingly smaller figure of Percy. An Iron Man suit shot towards Tony, seeming to come from nowhere, and assembled itself around the billionaire in less than a second, and Wanda still continued to look at Percy. Tony was too far away.

 _He isn't going to make it._

Someone yelled something, but Wanda didn't hear. She was pointing her hands downwards, calling out her energy and forcing it to stretch through hundreds of feet, pushing it farther than she had ever gone before, extending a hand of pulsing energy that reached and reached and reached . . .

"Come on!" Tony muttered, streaking down so fast that the Tower blurred on his left. _Oh god, the kid's too far—way too far . . ._ In that moment, he felt a huge pulse of energy rush past him, and red sparks played across his interface inside the suit . . .

Wanda could feel herself tingling all over, as if her entire body had fallen asleep, but she gave a defiant shout and a final pulse of energy . . .

* * *

Percy was less than 20 feet from the ground, with pedestrians on the streets below beginning to point and give cries of alarm, when his freefall was suddenly halted in an almost bone-breaking jolt. He'd been falling for 7 seconds.

Tony got to him less than a second later, and gently enfolded his suspended, shaking body in his metal arms, noticing that writhing tendrils of dark red energy were coiled around the boy's torso. Oddly enough, there was also a thin strand of something white sticking to Percy's shirt, but Tony barely paid it any attention—the kid, though clearly unconscious, had started wheezing, though that didn't stop the constant stream of slurred and indistinct words that passed from his lips. Whatever was wrong with him had to be dealt with—now.

Tony rocketed back up to the launching pad of Avengers Tower and hurried back inside the building with the team on his heels, starting to feel something close to panic as Percy's lips and fingers started turning blue. The suit's helmet receded from Tony's head as he placed the boy on a table in the lounge that Steve had quickly cleared.

"Something's wrong—he's struggling to breath." Tony said quickly. "Friday, give me a full scan."

Friday's many invisible sensors in the room started collecting data, and Percy's vitals began appearing on one of Tony's screens in the adjoining room. _"Performing medical scan now, Boss."_

Percy suddenly bucked and shouted something incomprehensible, before screaming a name. "Annabeth!"

Wanda, completely drained from having used her powers over such a great distance and leaning heavily on Vision, shuddered and collapsed, unable to take the second wave of raw emotion. Vision quickly caught her, and brought her to another room where he gently laid her on a couch.

"Is she okay?" Clint asked, following Vision.

"Yes, only tired." Vision responded.

Clint nodded, and returned to the other room.

". . . no medical bracelet?" Natasha was asking, her piercing gaze combing over Percy's body. "Did you see anything in his records, Tony?"

Percy was shaking his head, furiously speaking slurred words, but they were getting quieter and quieter—whatever he was suffering from was taking its toll.

Tony shook his head quickly, the agitation that Percy was giving off starting to get to his nerves. "No, no—nothing. Damn, his stunt is going to have the paparazzi all over this place in an hour."

Nobody commented—a rambling Stark was a worried Stark.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that he was clearly running low on oxygen, Percy was still thrashing on the table, his limbs flailing everywhere in what looked suspiciously like combative moves. Steve caught Percy's arm just as it swung out, his fast reflexes preventing Rhodes from being struck in the head. Holding his arm tightly, he forced Percy's fisted hand down, his eyes widening slightly. Damn, the kid was stronger than he looked—nothing compared to Steve's own strength, but still—strong.

"Romanoff," Steve warned as Percy's other hand flailed about.

"Got it," she said, catching the arm. Clint grunted as one of Percy's kicking legs snapped into his shoulder.

"It looks to be asthma," Vision said, returning from watching over Wanda.

 _"It appears he is suffering from an asthma attack."_ Friday confirmed, several seconds later.

"So we just need to find an inhaler." Sam said.

Steve shook his head. "Not going to work—he's not even lucid. Trust me, I know—with his breathing like that, you won't be able to give him the medicine. We need something else."

"The kid needs a doctor," Tony said.

"Dr. Cho's still Upstate, at the training facility." Clint said, sighing heavily.

Nobody voiced their collective thought: _Banner would know what to do._

It was a testament to how accustomed the Avengers were to life-threatening situations that none of them even spared a thought for calling an ambulance.

"If it's asthma, then how the hell is he moving like . . . this?" Rhodes stared at Percy's bucking body, clearly disturbed by the pain that the boy was exhibiting.

"This isn't just an asthma attack," Sam said, looking at his struggling form and feeling a sense of déjà vu. "This is—"

"PERCY!"

* * *

 _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, please tell me it didn't happen . . ._ Annabeth, having heard the alarmed shouts, teared through the room and towards the group that was crowded around a table, pushing past Tony to look upon the distressed form of Percy. He had fallen into a shuddering fit, and mumbled words slewed from his mouth. His face was frowning severely with so many emotions that she barely knew what she was feeling herself, and his eyes weren't even open, though she could see the rapid movement beneath his lids—this was one of his worst flashbacks.

Annabeth nearly sobbed, but she didn't. She knew what to do. Or rather, her body did. Her fingers opened her small purse and drew out a clear crystal vial containing a rose-coloured liquid. She pulled out the stopper and kneeling beside the table, held the vial near Percy's mouth and nose.

"Come on, Percy, breathe." She brushed back his sweat-slicked hair and kissed his cheek. "Breathe."

"What are you giving him?" Steve asked.

"Medicine." Annabeth replied, not looking at him, solely concentrated on the task before her. It actually was in fact medicine. Upon learning that many of Annabeth and Percy's asthma attacks were triggered by flashbacks—or when it got really bad, hallucinations—and that the majority of a dosage from their inhaler couldn't be effectively delivered to their lungs while they were thrashing about and screaming with erratic breaths, Will decided to create a new form of asthma medication that could be used regardless of whether or not they were suffering from a flashback or hallucination. After a few days of experimentation, the Apollo cabin managed to whip up a concoction that combined both the human medicine and some more divine components.

"It's a secret recipe." Will had winked before giving one to both Percy and Annabeth. "All you need to do is waft it—the medicine will do the rest."

* * *

The medicine Annabeth was administering to Percy didn't look like anything that Steve had ever taken for his own childhood asthma, though he could smell the distinct scent of the asthmatic medicine mixed in with other scents. Whatever the medicine contained, however, it did the trick: within a minute, Percy had stopped wheezing and the color was returning to his lips and fingers.

Unfortunately, he also became more violent—with oxygen returning to his body, his struggling and thrashing became more and more wild, and Steve, who had relaxed his grip on Percy's arm, was paid with a swinging fist to the jaw.

* * *

"Ouch. Cap—you okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Steve said. He'd barely winced. "Kid throws a good hook, though."

Annabeth didn't even notice the exchange—she was watching with horror as Percy's now free hand was suddenly reaching for his pant pocket, his fingers scrabbling and searching. A jolt of alarm finally unfroze her and she grabbed his arm, trying to pull it away. Away from the pocket, and the pen that glimmered inside it. She didn't want to find out if the Mist worked on these people if Percy managed to draw Riptide—especially in the cases of Wanda and Vision.

"Percy," Annabeth growled, trying to keep her words quiet and grunting with effort as she tried to keep Percy's hand away from his pocket. It had to be a bad memory that the flashback was coming from if he was reaching for Riptide. "Percy, listen to me—I know you can hear me. _It's not real_ —none of it is. None of it." She had to wake him as soon as she could, before the asthma returned or a pipe exploded.

Percy only responded with a "STOP! Stop!" as his arm, taut and shaking, tried to break out of her grasp.

"Let me help." An faint voice thick with accent said from behind her. "I can calm him."

Annabeth spared a look over her shoulder and saw an exhausted Wanda. Her heart nearly skipped a beat from seeing how close the girl was. "No," she said sharply. "Please, stay back." The last thing she needed was Wanda to read Percy's mind—calming him would no doubt require some kind of mental manipulation, and that was too similar to telepathy. She said she'd stopped and learned her lesson, but right now, Annabeth couldn't take her word for it.

She spared glances around herself, and noticed everyone's eyes on her. Gods, she was trapped—hemmed in by questions and gazes while trying to keep safe the biggest secret in her and Percy's lives.

She turned back to Percy, but she was distracted. Her fingers had loosened their grip by the slightest degree, and Percy took advantage, ripping his arm out of her grasp and pulling out his pen.

"No!" Annabeth lunged forward, but Vision beat her to it, pushing down Percy's arm while Natasha plucked the pen out of his fingers.

"Don't want him stabbing one of us in the eye," She joked, but it was a dark humour with Percy still bucking and shouting incomprehensible words.

Annabeth swallowed, seeing Riptide in Natasha's hand, and it took all her willpower to not snatch it back. "Yes, that would be bad," she managed. She held out her hand, trying to stop it from shaking with panic and fear, and nearly collapsed with relief as the woman placed the pen in her palm without question. She hurriedly put it in her own pocket as her own words echoed back to her. _Too close—much too close_.

"How do we get him out of . . . this?" Rhodes asked.

Annabeth took a deep breath, trying to think with a racing mind. She didn't know. Usually, when Percy had one of his attacks, she was in Camp or on her own, and able to bring him to the Hypnos cabin, where they put him in a deep enough slumber that the flashbacks dissipated. She knew she couldn't do that now, however. If she even mentioned taking Percy somewhere, at least one of these people would be adamant about coming with her and making sure both she and Percy were okay.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help. Percy once had one of his attacks while they were in a mall (don't ask how they ended up there—Annabeth swore that Piper used her charmspeak), and it was a terrible experience, to say the least. While a few good Samaritans came forward to offer their help, the majority of people stopped and stared or hurried past them, their eyes purposefully averted. She'd wanted to yell at the people gawking, wanted to scream at the people who literally ran by them, but she was too busy trying to stop Percy from hurting himself. Fortunately, he hadn't been nearly as wild and violent as he was now. Otherwise, she would have never been able to convince a cab to take them to Long Island, after which she literally dragged Percy to the Camp's border before Clarisse finally spotted them and came to help.

This time, however, she was completely surrounded by good Samaritans, and it was the last thing she needed. Every shout that Percy made, ever word that he spoke, increased the chances that they would be discovered. She almost wanted to gag him, but knew she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it. Plus, she doubted that these people would let her do it even if she was willing to.

There was one other thing she could try. She could feel the vial, heavy in her purse. No, not the one used to deal with Percy's asthma. The _other one_.

The one containing the waters of Lethe. It was a gift from Nico, after he'd heard that one of Annabeth's flashbacks had triggered her asthma, and it took Percy over half an hour to snap her out of the terrifying scene playing over and over in her head.

"The water was collected in the bend of the river that passes by the cave of Hypnos," Nico had explained to them, carefully handing Annabeth the small vial. "So it's potent and still has the ability to wipe your memories if you were to drink it or come in contact with it—but you don't need to do that. You just need to breathe in the fumes, and you should fall into a dreamless sleep—no flashbacks. It'll work better than slapping someone in the face or screaming in their ear."

Percy had turned red at that. He'd tried that—and more.

"Just be careful with it—you know how dangerous this stuff is."

Annabeth did. And standing in front of all these mortals (save perhaps Vision), Annabeth was loathe to take out the vial, a piece of their world, while they watched on. But seeing the state that Percy was in, she knew that it might be hours before she managed to bring Percy out of his flashback without the water, and even that wasn't a given. And if she let the flashback continue long enough, his asthma would be triggered again.

With a feeling of deep foreboding, she drew out the small vial. It looked innocent enough—a bronze container and a bronze stopper. When she pulled out the stopper, one could see clear liquid inside—like water. What the mortals did not know was that the bronze was actually Celestial Bronze, and the clear water-like liquid inside was deadly enough to permanently wipe a human or demigod's entire mind.

Annabeth made sure to keep the vial away from her face—the last thing she needed was to fall asleep while Percy was suffering from a flashback and they were surrounded by the Avengers.

"More medicine?" Steve guessed, absently rubbing the slightly red spot on his jaw from where Percy clocked him. The captain didn't sound curious—he sounded interrogative. And while his stance was completely relaxed (as relaxed as the 6 foot plus man could appear, anyway), his eyes were closely observing everything she did.

"Yes." Annabeth lied, trying to hide her unease. "Please . . . hold him still—I don't want to spill it." That was the understatement of the century.

But Steve didn't move, only frowned. "Excuse me?"

Beside him, Natasha tilted her head, her piercing gaze locking with Annabeth's. "I'm sorry—what did you say you were trying to do again?"

Annabeth felt cold—the woman's tone wasn't interrogative. It was distrustful.

And now Annabeth became aware of just how well respected Natasha was among her team members, as the mood in the room turned from one of discomfort and agitation to one of confrontation. Ironically, the concept of predators and prey came to mind. _Don't show any fear—they can smell it_. Annabeth straightened and met Natasha's gaze evenly. "It will help him. Maybe later, I'll explain it to you, but right now, Percy doesn't have another second to spare. I've been treating him for nearly a year," Annabeth continued, when she saw that no one had moved. "I know what I'm doing."

Ironically, it was Wanda who restored trust. "She's his girlfriend, guys," she chastised them. She seemed to be very good at that. "Let her help him."

* * *

Annabeth was hiding something.

It wasn't a gift that Natasha had been blessed with—she just knew. After years of studying people, targets, friends, and enemies in her many different occupations, she could spot a lie as easily as the globe could spin or the sun could and would burn—it came to her naturally.

She didn't actually think Annabeth would intentionally harm Percy—the feelings they felt for each other had been quite apparent the moment she met them. That didn't mean, however, that Natasha wasn't suspicious about the vial that she now held in her hand. One vial that stopped asthma attacks was interesting enough (she was pretty sure she had caught a gleam in Tony's eye)—but another that would somehow stop these convulsions that Percy was having? That was too much for her. And she had seen how Annabeth had looked at the pen that she'd snatched out of Percy's hand—whatever she was hiding somehow involved it.

Natasha traded a look with Clint, who was frowning slightly at what she'd said. Clearly, he saw Percy as a friend and was perhaps emotionally compromised to a small extent—but she knew he was also suspicious. But he respected other peoples' secrets more than she did.

She used to respect others' secrets. Back when she was an assassin, and then after that, an agent of SHIELD. But then it had all fallen apart when she'd released all of SHIELD's files onto the internet—her cover blown, her aliases revealed, her history released for the world to see in all its bloody gory. It was devastating—her entire way of life was no longer a viable option for her. But it also meant a new start—a clean and fresh start. A start free of secrets.

Natasha suspected that it was her fresh start that took away her ability to respect other peoples' secrets. She knew how damaging they were on both the person and the people around them—transparency was the way to go.

And so, after watching the couple attempt to evade Tony's questions about college, and having seen their constant unease, she had come to a definite conclusion. They had secrets that posed a possible danger to the team.

So, she nodded to Wanda and they traded looks and thoughts.

 _. . . secrets . . ._ Wanda's voice echoed in her mind.

Natasha gave an almost imperceptible nod. _. . . I know . . ._

And one way or another, she was going to find out what they were.

* * *

Between Steve and Vision, Percy had no chance. Annabeth shuddered to see him held down by these two people, but there wasn't much she could do. While they kept him still, she held the vial beneath his nose, and prayed that the water would work. She had never tried it before—in fact, taking the vial from Nico all those months ago, she'd hope that she would never have to use it.

But it didn't matter—because it was working. Everybody watched with growing relief as Percy began to calm, his movements growing heavier and his words becoming quieter, as if he was trying to resist the effects of the water, but was fighting a losing battle.

His face was just starting to lose its pained expression, the creased brow and taut jaw relaxing into a serene appearance, when Rhodes' phone rang.

The sharp, loud sound cut through the thick, moody atmosphere and had Wanda nearly jumping out of her skin.

Rhodes pulled out his phone, giving them all an apologetic look, and upon reading the caller ID, excused himself from the room.

* * *

When he had found an empty room far from the lounge in which the rest of the team was gathered, Rhodes accepted the call.

"General Ross—"

"Enough games, James." The general's growl cut him off. "I want the captain on the phone NOW."

"Sir—"

"That is an _order_ , Colonel." General Ross snapped. "Don't test my patience. If I'm not speaking to Steve Rogers in the next minute, I'll find you guilty of insubordination and you can kiss your career goodbye."

Rhodes bit back a rebuke, knowing that if he were to disobey the order _and_ talk back to his superior, he wouldn't just be losing his job.

A year. That's how long he'd been covering for Steve—an entire year. It had started as a few calls once a month, with the general wanting a continuous update on the progress of the Avengers. Really, the government had no excuse for sticking its nose in the business of the Avengers—they were an autonomous group, funded solely by Stark Industries. However, unwilling to lie or ignore the general—who was the US Secretary of Defense, one feels it is pertinent to note—Rhodes gave brief and concise answers about the development of each of the members and the good progress of their missions—HYDRA was slowly being eradicated. He wasn't betraying the Avengers—Steve knew about the calls after having interrupted one of them, and it was evident that he trusted Rhodes not to step over the line in what he told the general, because he never questioned Rhodes or brought up the subject.

His partition of loyalties—divided between the government that he had sworn on his life to protect, and the group of heroes he had recently joined—while odd, was manageable. He had a great respect for Thaddeus Ross—as a Vietnam war veteran and master tactician, the general was a decorated officer and well-respected—even jokingly nicknamed the "Thunderbolt" by some of his subordinate officers. If there was only one thing that Rhodes disliked regarding the general, it was his involvement in the recently closed Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project, and its goal of attempting to recreate the Super Soldier Serum first developed in the 1900s. As far as Rhodes was concerned, all of humanity was unbelievably fortunate that it had been Steve to receive the serum all those years ago, and no one else. One only had to look to the Red Skull and all the crimes and destruction he committed to recognize just how devastating it would be to have an individual with malicious intentions be given the serum. There was also the hunt for Bruce Banner to consider. Rhodes had only met the doctor twice when he up and disappeared following the defeat of Ultron, but he sympathized—hunted for years, simply because his transformation into a giant raging monster (which occurred while trying to help the government in their Bio Project) was considered the prized possession of the government?

Not cool, Thaddeus. Not cool.

But other than that, Rhodes was on good terms with the general. Or at least as good as a subordinate officer could be with the gruff superior. They'd even worked together several years ago, when Tony—back when Stark Industries was still a weapons manufacturer—was doing contract work with the government, supplying them with high-grade weaponry, including the sonic cannons that General Ross used to nearly incapacitate Banner while he was the Hulk.

Then Vision and Wanda had saved Rhodes' life four months into his new job at the Avengers, and everything changed. Rhodes realized that the Avengers weren't being purposely distant with him— _he_ was the problem. He was the one giving the cold shoulder and the silent hand. And so he made a conscious decision to change, and over the next 8 months, the Avengers started to become his team—he started to become an Avenger. And while he still struggled to trust Vision—it was hard to trust someone who didn't even look human but who wielded so much power—he no longer saw Sam as competition, or Wanda as weird. Sam was the one he bantered with and traded military stories, and Wanda was powerful and very often a nuisance whenever she berated him for his mistreatment of Vision. A 'nuisance' of a sister, whom he put up with because he respected her abilities and contributions to the team. 'Rogers' became Steve and Natasha? A very dangerous woman who destroyed him in hand-to-hand combat.

Rhodes could now say from first-hand experience that her electric batons were _painful_.

And so, as he changed, his relationship with the general also changed. He still saw him as a responsible officer of the law who was keeping an eye on the Avengers, but giving him weekly updates on his team was starting to feel uncomfortably similar to spying. If it wasn't for the fact that Rhodes believed that Steve was becoming compromised in their search for Bucky, and that they needed someone else to direct the team, someone without a personal connection to the missions, he might have . . . he didn't know what he might have done about the weekly reports. The military—the rules, his comrades, the early mornings and late reconnaissance missions—they weren't just a part of the military life—they were a part of _his_ life.

And yet, it seemed that the Avengers were also now a part of his life. The rigorous training sessions that Steve put them through were more supportive then Rhodes had ever experienced in the military, the beds weren't hard and the food was good, and some days, he spent more time flying than walking.

He was stuck, between a rock and a hard place.

And last night had been the final pushing point for the general. He knew Rhodes was withholding information from him, and so he pulled a card that he hadn't needed to pull for the entire year that Rhodes had been with the Avengers—he gave him a direct order.

And Rhodes, unable to disobey, told him.

Everything.

The mission where they realized that HYDRA was hunting down Bucky. The meeting that Steve called about three weeks after that, admitting to them that he was now looking for his best friend, and that while he had kept it secret from them for weeks, he was now asking for their help. The months and resources spent searching for the assassin, searching before HYDRA got their hands on him.

It would be an understatement to say that General Ross was livid upon Rhodes telling him that they were searching for the Winter Soldier. Even over the phone, he sounded quite ready to strangle someone.

Rhodes was against the search. He had seen the wreckage that the Winter Soldier was capable of wreaking all on his own, with nothing but a metal arm. He'd read the files that Steve had given them on the soldier—years of shock therapy and cryogenics that left nothing but a machine less human than Vision.

Natasha was dangerous, sure, but she had a heart. Barnes? He didn't even have a capacity for mercy. Their search for him would not end well—Rhodes could feel it in his gut. And he told Steve so—told him that it would be best to leave it to the US Army.

"The whole country is open to them—hell, the whole world. They can find and neutralize the threat without worrying about backlash from the media or the public, or questions from the government."

"Bucky—his name is Bucky." Steve had given him his most severe glare, and Rhodes knew then that there was no convincing Steve otherwise.

But despite his unwavering opposition to their search for the hunted assassin, Rhodes conveniently forgot to tell the general about some things—how Wanda was learning to fly, and Vision was beginning to materialize larger and more complex objects. How close they were to reaching Bucky yesterday.

So he didn't tell him everything.

Rhodes wondered if this infraction in obeying a direct order was a sign of something larger. Never, in his 24 years with the Air Force, had he ever disobeyed an order. Never. And yet, now he'd not only done that, but he'd also betrayed his friends.

Did he mention that he was stuck? Between a rock and a hard place.

Rhodes swallowed, knowing that he was sealing his fate. "I apologize for the delay, sir. I'll get him right away."

* * *

"So—what exactly was that?" Sam asked. "One moment we were singing, and the next he was freaking out because there was a bird."

Tony looked out onto the landing pad distastefully. "Which I need to get rid of—it stinks."

Annabeth paused for a moment, looking at Percy's serene face as he slept on the couch. It was clear that she was considering how much to tell them.

In the silence, Clint looked down at Wanda, who was nestled under one of his arms as she sat on the couch, and said, "By the way, nice catch, Scarlet."

"Keep calling me that and I'll toss _you_ off the Tower, little bird," Wanda said. It was evident that she was trying to stay awake despite how exhausted she clearly was. "And you won't be able to count on me to catch you."

Annabeth shifted and looked back up at them, and everybody's attention became trained on her. "Percy had some . . . experiences, as a child, and some things will trigger the memories, in the form of a flashback."

Tony thought back, recalling how Percy had looked upon seeing the bird—he'd started wheezing, his eyes wide with . . . absolute fear. "Must have been some pretty traumatic experiences," he commented. "Because I swear it looked like he was having a panic attack." He'd had enough of them himself to recognize the signs immediately. "And he was getting pretty violent—if Cap didn't have the awesome healing capabilities that he does, he'd have a giant bruise on his jaw right now. As it stands, his skin is still smarting."

Annabeth shifted, clearly uneasy, and Steve shot Tony a warning look: _Don't scare her._

"It's not like I got kicked in the shoulder or anything," Clint muttered, rubbing his arm where Percy had struck him with his leg. Natasha rolled her eyes while Clint turned his gaze on Annabeth. "And what about the asthma? Tony said there was nothing in his records."

Annabeth relented. "The asthma is more of a side effect of the experiences than an individual illness—it's psychologically triggered. That's why it's not in his records—besides the flashbacks, he usually won't suffer from an asthma attack."

Tony frowned. "Does he have any other mental problems? Is he schizophrenic?"

"No," Sam said, before Annabeth could reply. "One of us would have noticed it right away." There was a clear certainty in his voice, and the group was reminded that there were in fact three military men on the Avengers team, all of whom were very familiar with the many mental illnesses that arose among their ranks, and one of whom in fact used to work with Veteran Affairs, helping military personnel come to grips with their lives after being diagnosed with illnesses such as PTSD and schizophrenia.

"And the medicine?" Steve asked, after a pause.

* * *

"Smells," Annabeth said, as an explanation began to form in her mind. Hopefully, it would be plausible enough to take away some of the suspicion that the group was expressing right now. "His triggers are often smells—I'm almost certain that the rotting smell of that bird caused the . . . panic attack," She nodded to Tony, "before it developed into a flashback. What I used isn't really medicine—they're comforting smells that are able to bring him out of the asthma and the flashbacks."

"The last time I checked, smells weren't very effective in stopping asthma." Natasha said.

"Well, like I said, the asthma is psychologically triggered. It can be stopped in the same way that it's started." Annabeth lied. _At least there was some truth in the beginning_ , Annabeth thought. The trigger _had_ most likely been the bird. If it hadn't been for the terrifying sight of Percy in the grips of a flashback, she suspected that she might have fallen into the same state upon smelling the sulfurous wafts that the bird was giving off. As it was, she had a rather bad headache, but nothing else, thank the gods.

Still, she could tell that some of them weren't buying her explanation—she was leaving too much in the shadows. What happened to Percy (as a child, apparently)? What exactly was the 'medicine of smells' that she'd used to treat the asthma and put Percy in the sleeping state that he was in now? Upon reflection, Annabeth knew how fortunate they were that Percy hadn't been very clear in his shouts and mutterings, otherwise they would be asking her even more questions.

But him falling from the Avengers Tower? That was sure to have caught someone's attention. Annabeth didn't even want to consider what might have surfaced on the media because of it. If they got Percy's face . . .

Fortunately, they didn't question her any further. Tony, in a moment that was rather thoughtful for the billionaire, offered her a room in the Tower to stay in for the night while Percy recovered.

"Thank you, but it's okay. He should be awake soo—"

"Steve." Someone said, walking into the room. It was Rhodes.

* * *

Wanda frowned, momentarily distracted from trying to discern the source of Annabeth's unease by the odd expression on Rhodes' face. He was radiating waves of anxiety.

Steve's brow creased, evidently also noticing that Rhodes was acting out of character.

Rhodes held his phone out to him. "It's for you."

Frowning, Steve took the phone wordlessly, placing it to his ear. "Steve Rogers."

A crackling growl emitted from the phone as whoever was on the other end proceeded to shout, and Steve winced, leaning away from the speakers and waiting until the shouting died down.

The captain finally brought the phone back to his ear. "General Ross." He said formally, albeit coolly.

This was the tone that Steve always used with politicians and army officials, Wanda noticed. Respectful, but with the hint of a cold shoulder. It didn't help that, unlike Rhodes, Steve had a personal grudge against the general for creating an outcast out of Banner and putting him on the run for years. Wanda supposed that the two were rather similar—their extraordinary abilities were the result of experiments that were linked to the Super Soldier Serum one way or another. The only difference was that society eventually accepted Steve, while Banner had the permanent reputation of being a monster.

The general said something, and Steve attempted to speak. The phone call quickly disintegrated into a one-sided conversation where the general constantly overrode the captain's words.

With an increasingly irritated expression on his face, Steve left the room just as he said, calmly, "General, if you would let me speak for a _single_ moment."

* * *

When Steve returned nearly 10 minutes later, Wanda shrunk away from him.

Anger didn't suit Steve Rogers—it never did. He was a man who embodied control and calm—he was their captain, for goodness sakes. It would take an incredible feat to make him angry—Wanda had seen him put up with a lot, and at the worst, he got irritated. But never angry.

But as he stalked back into the room, 'angry' didn't even begin to describe the expression on his face. Livid. He looked absolutely livid—more than any of them had ever seen him before. And his furious gaze was aimed directly at Rhodes.

" _You told him about Bucky?"_

* * *

 _. . ._

 **So, for those of you who weren't aware of it, the research that Bruce Banner was doing (back before he became the Hulk)** ** _was_** **actually part of a government project that was attempting to revive the Super Soldier Serum to create . . . well, soldiers, for the US government. Banner wasn't aware of this, and I believe he tested it on himself, but accidentally exposed himself to Gamma Rays which turned him into the Hulk.**

 **Some of you may recognize the following words—if you've read this already, please skip ahead. For those of you who haven't seen this before, read on: This goes out to everyone who hasn't reviewed this story yet. Fanfiction has a purpose besides providing a site on which people may create stories: it allows for aspiring writers to stretch their literary fingers and expand their creative brain, and ultimately, to allow them to improve their writing skills. Through REVIEWS. Which are provided by their readers. So when you read any story on Fanfiction, you guys have a duty to the writer, just as the writer has a duty to continue their story and not abandon it. Comment and question! Provide suggestions for improvement—constructive criticism is WELCOME and ENCOURAGED.**

 **Vivliofagos:** _I know you suggested a while back (in your review from Chapter 4) that perhaps the Stark Relief Fund could become involved in treating Percy's asthma. Unfortunately, I couldn't get the situation to turn out like that. The Stark Relief Fund (I didn't make this up—it's actually mentioned in the Age of Ultron) is meant to provide aid to people suffering from the results of a natural/manmade disaster—kind of like the emergency branch of the Red Cross, if you're familiar with the group. It wasn't made to address medical conditions of a single individual who's not the victim of a large scale disaster. So . . . yes. I apologize for not being able to use the suggestion, but perhaps Stark will become a little nosy and start poking around . . ._

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Erucchii:** _Haha, I know, but cliffhangers are so fun to write. And thank you—I take your words to heart._

 **willdawg992003** : _Thank you! Yeah—it was a bit difficult, I just wanted to make sure that there was an evident tension that Annabeth and Percy were experiencing, being surrounded by superheroes and all._

 **littlebear62007** : _To be very honest, I burst out laughing when I saw this review—I'm not intending any offense, it was just funny :)_

 **MoonLightNinja _:_** _Don't worry, he's too important. For now, anyway ;)_

 **GOldenRabbit** : _Hopefully this story isn't that bad (honestly though—is it? Please let me know!)! And yup—he has fallen from the Tower._

 **Nobody** : _That's a pretty interesting idea—I never knew that. Unfortunately, I won't be involving the Kane Chronicles in this story, nor the Egyptian gods, so Wanda will most likely not be acting as a host for Set in this story. Yup—except Wanda's is a little different, involving more intimate mental manipulation whereas Hazel's powers are more concerned with illusions and what she can get people to see/believe._

 **Guest** : _THANK YOU!_ _Hope you like the newest chapter!_


	10. Anniversaries V: The Aftermath

**So, you guys passed a milestone a few chapters back, and I didn't even realize it—100 reviews! I sincerely apologize for not noting it earlier—you guys have taken the time and effort to write those reviews, and the least I could have done was acknowledge it. So, I'm posting another early chapter as an apology and a thank you. I never would have gotten this far without you guys, and your support has been absolutely incredible since Day 1.**

 **And you guys were great last chapter as well—there was a marked increase in reviews! 23 reviews! That's the highest you guys have gotten for a chapter! I want to thank all of you who devoted the time and effort to typing them up. THANK YOU! And it was great to see the new faces (or pen names) among the reviews! Let's see if can't do even better, shall we? So the goal to reach for this chapter: 23 more reviews, up to 147. If you haven't reviewed this story, now's the time :) And constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged—I should really make that my motto.**

 **And finally, the last chapter to the Anniversaries series! Chapters will be returning to the usual names after this. Also, as you might have noticed, I'm terrible with naming chapters, so if you have suggestions for any of the ones I've posted so far, let me know! That being said, I may not use the name that is suggested—just a heads up, because I don't want to raise any expectations.**

 **MUST READ: And, the title is changing again. Yes, I know—** _ **again**_ **. But it's very bad, and with the help of Lisaloves and Hooded007, I've come up with a new title! So, the title will be changing to: Divided I Stand. It should be changed in the next week or so—I just want to give you a heads up now. Also, the summary** _ **may**_ **change as a result.**

 **A big THANK YOU goes out to LostHeroGuide, author of** _ **Heroes and Ghosts**_ **, for promoting this story on their most recently posted chapter! Their support has been steadfast since the beginning, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you for doing that.**

 **Updates are coming faster than I've been anticipating, and it's starting to cut into my studying—I literally can't stay away from writing. If I could, I would write 24/7. That's literally what my summer will be like. Unfortunately, these exams are actually going to decide the rest of my life. And I've come to the devastating realization that I literally cannot write fast enough and lay down the Civil War plotline before** _ **Civil War**_ **comes out. So after this chapter, it's back to strictly one update per week, until exams are finished. I really don't know if I'm going to follow the plot of the movie, or make my own plot at this point—but we'll see, I suppose.**

 **And finally, there's a point in the Thor POV that gets highly emotional with a deep grieving tone. I tried to convey it. A song that will aid in the tone, if you'd like to listen to it, is "Into Eternity" by Brian Tyler. The two asterisks (**) will indicate that that is where you should start listening to the music, if you choose to. Unfortunately, it will not sound sad unless you have watched** _ **The Dark World.**_ **(sorry, I know the tone of this part of the A/N is a little distorted—I'm in the middle of writing Thor's POV, and the style is kind of leaking out into my writing)**

 **And that, I believe, is all I have to say (sorry for the A/N being so long). Oh, and I keep forgetting the disclaimer, so the disclaimer in the first chapter now applies for the entire story. That's much easier.**

 **Thank you to all those who followed, favourited, and reviewed!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Anniversaries V: The Aftermath

 _"Begone, Asgardians, before you wear my patience too thin. Look for help elsewhere—I doubt I would be able to offer you any even if I was willing." An exhaustion lay beneath his voice—Frey was tired. Very tired._

 _"How would you know if we have not even told you what help we required?" Sif challenged._

 _"If you leave afterwards, then please, enlighten me." Frey said, indifferent._

 _"We seek the location of the last two Infinity Stones." Thor said, stepping forward._

 _A spark ignited in Frey's black eyes and Gullinbursti gave a nervous huff. "Oh? Why didn't you say this before?"_

 _"I . . ." Sif was lost for words._

 _"Please, sit." Frey motioned to the ground. "Insults and ill sentiments in the past, it seems we have much to discuss."_

 _. . ._

"We must wait for night to arrive." Frey said. "That is when I might help with your search for the Stones."

They had been talking since mid-noon, trading war stories, the Asgardians getting to know the old warrior better. It was nearly sunset, and Thor's back ached from having sat for so long.

"Frey, I appreciate your aid, but I don't understand why you're willing to help us." Sif said cautiously, sparing a glance at Gullinbursti, who lay by his master's side. The boar glared at her with his golden eyes.

Frey regarded them. "Can you not feel it? The shift in Yggdrasil's roots? The silence of the four stags among its boughs? Something is coming. Something that none of us, not even the elders of your elders, have seen before. Something that hides in the shadows, away from my all-seeing eye, something not even my father Njord could ever have dared to imagine. And the Infinity Stones are at the very centre of it."

Thor felt chills down his spine. The warrior's words did not just sound foreboding—they sounded prophetic. _He is known as the god of foresight in Midgard's myths for a reason_ , he thought to himself.

And so they sat, and waited for night.

Hours later, Frey finally stood up. The Asgardians followed his lead, stifling their groans as their stiff muscles and locked bones complained from the sudden movement.

"Why did you keep insisting that we wait for the night?" Fandral asked, as he looked up at the brilliant array of stars that shined in Vanaheim's night sky.

Thor had missed the stars. On Midgard, they were always hidden from him, covered by hellish gases and too-bright lights. But on Asgard and Vanaheim, the celestial bodies shone bright and proud.

"The night will reveal to you more than the day—if you know how to ask." Frey said mysteriously. It seemed that with the day having turned to night, the warrior had undergone a change as well. He was more reserved, calm, and cryptic.

"That's a load of stinking draugr's breath." Volstagg muttered. The warrior was still displeased with the fact that he had lost his axe in the fight with Gullinbursti.

Frey heard him and laughed. "For those who fear the dark, perhaps."

Volstagg growled but Fandral lay a hand on his shoulder.

"But you are Frey of the Light," Sif said, sounding confused. "Why ever would you want the night? All of the stories that I have heard tell of you gaining your strength from the sun."

"Ah, but the tales are old, Lady Sif. That was before I met the Dark Elves." Frey looked up at the stars. "Malekith taught me much, before he endeavored to shadow the world in eternal darkness. Among them, he showed me the secrets of the night."

"The Infinity Stones were cast in darkness, if you did not know." Frey continued, still looking up. "Cast in darkness, and in chaos. And the darkness may still whisper of where they lay now, if I listen closely."

Frey raised his hands and Gullinbursti let out a sonorous cry, his bristles seeming to glow darker, if that were even possible.**

And then the warrior began to sing.

It was a song of lament. A song of grief. The words were of a very old form of Norse, so old that not even Odin, had he been present, would have been able to discern any distinct meaning. But it did not matter, because Thor did not need to hear the meaning—he could feel it. The warrior sang in his low and haunting tones, and Thor was forced to close his eyes lest they show a weakness that he kept buried away.

But while his eyes closed, his ears remained open. The song coursed through his blood with heavy strides, settling into his bones with aching anguish, piercing his heart with a keening pain. Thor groaned, staggering and falling to his knees, unable to bear the grievous burden on his shoulders. He thought of Loki in his arms and gripped his head tightly, trying to press the images out.

He remembered the boat that held Frigga's still body. The dead, exhausted look in his father's eyes. _There, there she lay on the ground . . . Blood, blood everywhere . . . the boat tipped over the edge of the waterfall_ —

Thor was jerked out of the memories and woke up to find himself sprawled across the ground, gasping for breath, covered in sweat. "Wh-wh . . ." He swallowed, trying to control his breathing and finally gathering enough strength to stagger to his feet.

It was still night, and they were still on the plateau, high up in the mountains. Frey stood a few strides away, regarding him with solemn black eyes.

"The songs of the Dark Elves were never ones of joy," Frey said quietly. "But they were powerful nonetheless."

Scattered across the plateau, Thor's friends were beginning to stir. Thor helped Sif up as she looked around confused.

"Are you alright?" He asked her.

Her wild eyes seemed to anchor themselves to his, and she nodded mutely. There was a pain in her eyes that Thor had never seen before, but he did not question it. He was still reeling from the raw anguish of his own memories.

"Warning would have been greatly appreciated." Volstagg growled. He seemed especially angry, and shrugged off Fandral's hand this time when the warrior attempted to calm him.

Frey did not respond. Instead, a frown had taken over his face.

"What did you learn of the Stones?" Sif asked, her voice slightly hoarse. Everybody shifted uncomfortably, but did not point it out.

"Grave news. Very grave news."

"What?" Volstagg asked impatiently.

"It appears that one of the stones is lost, far beyond the Nine Realms."

"And the other?" Thor asked.

"Midgard." Frey looked back up at the night sky.

Everybody turned to Thor, who looked at him in surprise. "Midgard?"

"Yes. But that is not the grave news."

" _Then what is_?" Volstagg gripped the hilt of one of his daggers.

Frey turned his black eyes on them. "Someone is searching for them."

Thor traded a look with Sif. So his and Odin's suspicions had been correct.

"Who, I do not know. But they do not rest in the Nine Realms, nor beyond. They are . . . elsewhere. They use the darkness as a means of concealment, and despite all that I learned from the Dark Elves, I could not bring them out of the shadows. I do know this, however."

"They are coming."

* * *

 _"You told him about Bucky?"_

Rhodes met Steve's furious gaze with his own unwavering look, to his credit. "Yes Steve, I did. You know it would have happened sooner or—"

"No," Steve spoke sharply. "I trusted you to keep that one detail a secret. I _trusted_ you—"

"And the government trusts me to remain an officer of the law," Rhodes snapped, losing a hold on his calm demeanor. "That man is dangerous, Steve! He—"

"He's changed." Steve snapped back.

Rhodes gave a humourless laugh. "Sure, he's changed. That's why he nearly choked you to death 2 months ago, right? And almost killed those civilians last week. Because he's changed."

Steve took a threatening step forward and jabbed a finger into Rhodes' shirt. "If they kill him—"

"Uh, anybody mind telling me what exactly you two are going on about?" Tony asked with a politely curious expression, purposefully breaking the tense mood.

"I'm just going to . . ." Annabeth looked rather lost, watching an argument that involved issues she clearly wasn't involved in.

"Let's find you two a place to stay." Vision said, gently picking up Percy from the couch on which he slept. The three of them left the room.

. . .

Sam placed a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. "Lay off him, Steve. Rhodey didn't do anything wrong."

Steve's mouth was a thin, severe line, as if he was trying to stop himself from saying something, and finally he nodded, lowering his hand and stepping back.

Clint gave an inward sigh of relief. Looking around, he could see everyone else going through something similar. It was a little disconcerting, to see Steve come so close to losing control like that.

Steve rolled his shoulders, as if to let out some tension. "I'm sorry—that was wrong of me." He pinned his gaze on Rhodes again. "But that doesn't make what you did any better. Bucky already has to put up with HYDRA, and you just made it a whole lot worse for him by telling the government about our missions."

Tony put up a hand to stop Steve, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying."

Steve sighed, rubbing his face for a moment as if he were suddenly tired of the argument. "Tony—"

"No, hold it right there." Tony stood up. "Are you telling me that you've been looking for _James Barnes_ for the past year, and _didn't_ tell me?" He looked around the room, but everyone avoided his gaze. "Are you guys serious?

"Tony, there's a reason we didn't tell you." Clint said, knowing that this was going to be a long discussion. "You've been rooting for government oversight since day 1."

"Oh, you're going to bring that up agai—"

"If the government took over, Bucky's fate would be out of our hands." Steve cut across him. "You know as well as I that the government is still looking for someone to pin the blame after the battle at the Triskelion, and Bucky's the perfect target. They'd shoot and ask questions later."

"And the world would be better off." Tony said, coldly. "And that still doesn't excuse the fact that you kept this hidden from me—we're a team. _We don't keep secrets from each other_."

Steve's jaw tightened. "Considering what you've been doing the past year, you want to talk about being a team?

Tony poured himself a glass of alcohol, taking a sip while looking at Steve with a dispassionate gaze. "Let's."

Steve gave him a cold glare. "How about you publicly announcing your support for the UN Summit last month—the very Summit that's aiming to establish a registry—and not even giving us a warning beforehand, let alone an explanation?"

Tony shrugged. "It's about time we had some system going."

"When the hell did you start caring about rules and a system? The last time I checked, you disregarded half of them and broke the rest!"

Tony put down his drink. "I changed."

"And decided that we would be better off under the command of someone else?" Steve asked, disbelieving.

. . .

Tony stood up, unable to sit still any longer, and walked to the window that overlooked the landing pad. How could he explain this? How could he make Steve understand? "Every day." Tony swallowed. "Every day. I get another picture, or another e-mail, or another call from a newly installed landline—they don't stop. We left them in a giant mess, Steve—we let them clean up _our_ mess."

"Tony, what are you talking about?"

Tony whipped around, breathing hard. "Ultron, damnit— _Sokovia_. Do you know how much suffering they've gone through the past year? Do you even know how many people died that day?"

Steve's face hardened. "You think I don't? I think about it everyday—every person we failed."

23\. That's how many people died that day. Among them, families decimated, life-long friends and neighbours in a tight-knit community—gone. Pietro, killed. And the thousands left behind to deal with their grief and heartache of lost homes and the dead.

Tony could joke about it all he wanted. Tease Sokovia's politicians about the astounding number of their country's people who suffered from PTSD, heart attacks, strokes and a dozen other illnesses. But inside? His heart burned with guilt. A guilt he hadn't felt since the day he'd been captured by terrorists and shown the true destruction that his weapons wreaked upon innocents, stirring up an anger so great that people were ready to strike back at the US government and an infamous billionaire who seemed untouchable. Enough was enough. He could look at the pictures again, of devastation and dead bodies, that were sent to him each day by angry victims. He could answer each call he received, and read each e-mail that was written in grief. Or he could do something about it.

"The Summit is our ticket to a fresh start," Tony said, looking at all of them. "It's time we showed our support."

"For rules that will put us under the control of people who lead the UN—like the President?" Steve shook his head. "That's not a fresh start—that's an excuse. An excuse to deal with your guilt, and an excuse for politicians to gain more power."

"These aren't just politicians, Steve." Rhodes finally spoke up. "This is the UN. Not the US government, or the World Security Council, but the _United Nations_. If they decide to go forward with creating a registry, we can't do anything to stop them. And I don't think we should," he added. "Our hunt for Bucky has been going on too long. You're compromised, Steve. Have been since you started looking for him. How can we serve the interests of the people if our captain is looking for only one person?"

"Woah, hey now Rhodey," Sam started, standing up. "You want to talk about compromised? You've been spilling information to the general for what sounds like months—maybe even the past year."

"Which Steve was aware of." Rhodes said.

"And which I clearly should have stopped you from doing." Steve said, coldly.

"You put your trust in me, and I appreciate that. But you can't have forgotten that I have a sworn duty to the President and his government, as well."

"So you're saying it was inevitable."

Rhodes looked pained. "I'm saying that I was stuck, between two sides, and I was going to have to choose at one point or another."

"Guys." Wanda spoke up finally, getting up with a wince. Everybody was on their feet now, eyes hard and accusing. "Let's just breathe for a moment."

Tony scoffed. "And while we're going on about trust, how about someone explains to me why we signed _her_ up for the Avengers?"

"Tony," Natasha said warningly just as Clint snapped, "Hey—watch it."

"That's enough," Steve said, placing a comforting hand on Wanda's shoulder.

Rhodes frowned, looking at his best friend. "We're over that, Tony,"

Tony nodded, disappointed. "Clearly." And it was even more clear that the man had not forgiven Wanda's past deeds.

 _"Boss, General Ross would like to inform you that he will be here within the hour."_

Tony met Steve's hard gaze, and said, "Great—tell him we look forward to talking."

* * *

Steve walked down the corridor, weary and feeling deep foreboding about the upcoming meeting with the general. It was not going to go well.

"Steve."

Steve looked up to see Vision approaching him from the other end of the corridor. "Vision." He suddenly remembered their other guests. "Where are Percy and Annabeth?"

"In one of the guest rooms." Vision said, nodding down the hall. "General Ross is coming here?"

Steve nodded. "You heard?" Sometimes, he suspected that Vision's enhanced hearing far out-rivalled his own.

"Yes. It was rather difficult not to." Vision admitted.

Steve sighed. "Yeah, well—be prepared." He thanked Vision and walked down the hall, stopping in front of the only guest room that had its door closed. He knocked.

"Come in." Annabeth's quiet voice floated out.

Steve quietly opened the door to look upon Percy sleeping on a bed and Annabeth sitting next to him, one of her hands in his black hair while she looked at Steve with a rather guarded expression.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see how you guys were doing." Steve said, keeping his voice low.

"Good. But we might have to stay the night." Annabeth said, sounding a little reluctant.

"No problem—Tony won't mind." Steve tried not to twist his name as he said it, hiding his annoyance.

Annabeth noticed, however. "It sounded like a heated argument." She pointed to one of the other chairs in the room. "If you want, you can sit—I don't mind." She clearly did mind, but was being polite.

Steve didn't know why she and Percy has been uneasy for the majority of the party, and judging by Annabeth's expression, still were. He had talked with Clint, who had admitted that he was a little suspicious, but besides the information that could be revealed from a background check, there wasn't much more that could be known of the two. Steve supposed that if Annabeth and Percy had something to hide, they would reveal it in their own time, or not at all.

And so, despite Annabeth's thinly veiled frown, Steve walked in, sitting down on the chair. "Yeah—I'd be surprised if the whole Tower didn't hear it." He said, sighing.

"Sorry," Annabeth said quickly. "I didn't mean to be nosy—"

"No, no, I know."

"So . . . they're really considering a registry for superheroes?" Annabeth continued, cautiously.

"Sounds like you've been following the issue." Steve looked at her. _Then again_ , he thought, _everybody's been following it ever since the Battle of New York, when the government first proposed the idea._

Annabeth ducked her head. Steve wondered if she did it because she was embarrassed, or for another reason. "Yes, well—the consequences could be huge."

Steve sighed again. "Too true."

"Keep sighing like that and—." Annabeth said.

"I'll get grey hairs?"

Annabeth paused, looking at Percy for a moment. "Well, if the serum allows for it . . ."

Steve laughed, and felt the tension between them finally break.

"I'm a good listener." Annabeth offered.

It turns out she wasn't. She butt in every few seconds, asking questions and giving her own opinion, but Steve found that he didn't mind. It was nice, speaking normally to someone outside of the Avengers.

"So, next month," Steve continued, "on the 20th, the UN will decide whether or not to establish an external framework that will—"

"Essentially decide when and where you are needed." Annabeth finished.

"Exactly. Which crises require our aid, which ones don't, when and where to be deployed. And it won't just apply to us—every single person on this planet who possesses any kind of enhanced or superpowered abilities will be affected."

. . .

Annabeth nodded, the information that Steve was telling her already old news. The first time the issue had surfaced on the media, which was several years ago, shortly after the Battle of New York, she hadn't known what to make of it. A government framework for superheroes? It _sounded_ good. Looking upon all of the destruction that the Avengers and aliens had wreaked on the city, it sounded more than good. Surely, with government oversight and intervention, destruction would be reduced, right?

But having thought over the idea that the media was preaching, Annabeth wasn't so sure now. Assuming that government intervention would help in reducing destruction meant assuming that the government was better than the superheroes. It meant assuming that laws set out by the government would ensure greater transparency, reliability, and accountability. That, by forcing all enhanced and superpowered people to register themselves into a system that recorded every single fact about their life and their abilities, and forcing those same people to follow the command of the government or the UN or whoever else came along, people would no longer need to fear for their homes and family and friends because a fight had gotten out of hand.

Annabeth wasn't ready to make those assumptions.

Especially considering what was on the line. Her life. The lives of all demigods. Sure, the world didn't even know they existed—the UN wasn't about to come knocking on their doorstep, demanding that they register themselves and turn over their Oracle so that their quests would be given by some unknown officer from then on. But by enforcing a registry and a framework that would essentially make people—humans or not—soldiers of the UN, people would be more vigilant for 'superheroes'. Without their usual disregard for the supernatural, the Mist would weaken and demigods would be in even more danger than before. No longer would a mortal dismiss an unusual sighting or encounter. They would report it to the government, who would in turn investigate. And the consequences might be devastating.

Annabeth looked at Steve, beginning to understand where he was coming from. "I've heard about others, on the news and web." She said, continuing the conversation. "The Himalayas, Spider-Man . . ." She frowned.

"Not a fan?" Steve asked, chuckling.

Annabeth looked at him. In the past half-hour or so that they'd been talking, she had learned even more about Steve since the party. He was wholly and entirely against the idea of a registry, and had a great distrust for the government. He had been rather honest with her, so she wondered if she should be honest with him now.

"I wasn't a fan of any of you," Annabeth admitted.

She had a problem with superheroes, and the fact that rather than there being heroes, there were only _super_ heroes. It seemed to her that mortals had decided that heroes weren't enough; that they needed to start making them, manufacturing them, adding 'super' to the label. Forget Chiron and Grover, Jason and Percy, Renya and Annabeth—they didn't exist. There was only Spider-Man and Iron Man, Captain America and the Scarlet Witch, and probably a dozen others. Annabeth wasn't jealous for the fame that they received—it was that she disapproved of the fact that the idea of being a hero had become so tainted. That discretion was thrown out the window while the oddest, and sometimes the stupidest, names were donned.

And Annabeth realized that this was her opportunity to let Steve and the rest of the Avengers know just how greatly they'd impacted her life—all of the lives of the demigods, really, by destroying the city that was a symbol of norm for them. Camp was great, but they all had to get out and about sometimes, and New York was perfect for that. Then the aliens had come, and Chiron had banned all of them from joining in the fight—that had devastated Percy, who loved New York more than Annabeth did. This was her chance to tell Steve exactly that—and she couldn't do it. She could hear the guilt and shame in the man's voice—she didn't need to add salt to the wounds.

"But I've come to realize that you guys aren't that bad." Annabeth said, smoothing out Percy's hair. Or at least, attempting to. She had half a mind to get her hands on a straightener, but she didn't think Percy would be too thrilled when he woke up.

Steve laughed. "We 'aren't that bad'? Most kids your age would be absolutely thrilled to meet Captain America," he joked, opening his arms wide in a teasing manner. "Sorry, most _adults_ your age." He chuckled, when Annabeth frowned.

Joking around didn't suit Steve—he was clearly anxious about the quickly approaching meeting. Annabeth decided not to point out his odd behaviour. "Yes, well, Tony Stark offering me a job is probably affecting my judgement."

Steve nodded. "Right—congratulations again. Tony hires a lot of people on the spot, but I don't remember him praising any potential candidates that much."

Annabeth smiled. "It comes at a good time, too. Stark Industries is the perfect stepping stone for even better jobs in the future."

"Did you just call one of the most influential companies of the century a 'stepping stone'?" Someone asked, sounding scandalized.

Annabeth's gaze turned to find Tony Stark in the doorway. She winced.

* * *

Following the argument with Steve, and the hurt he'd felt to see the team gang up on him in Wanda's defense, Tony had immediately left the room and gone to his office.

He needed to do something—something normal.

"Friday, let's see if the stunt that kid pulled made the news."

 _"Yes, Boss_." The latest articles and trending topics on all media platforms in New York started appearing on the screen, one on top of the other.

"Oh, and get that bird on the landing platform scanned. I want to know how it died, and why the hell it smelled like rotten eggs.

 _"Would you like the bird disposed of afterwards, Boss?"_

"Yes—it stinks."

Tony tapped a wrench on his table impatiently, turning in his chair. What could think about that wouldn't get him all fired up again?

Percy and Annabeth.

Percy had seemed pretty normal at first, as had his girlfriend, save for the fact that one of them knew hand-to-hand combat and the other could probably win in a war of words. But even those were pretty normal.

Then Percy had taken a dive off the Tower. Not intentionally, of course, but nonetheless—a dive. The look he'd seen on the kid's face before he'd fallen was almost a déjà vu for Tony—he'd seen it plenty of times before on his own face, when he'd gotten Jarvis to record the many panic attacks he'd had following the Battle of New York. It was a look of insurmountable fear. A fear that choked up the lungs, stopped the heart, and shut down the brain.

And seeing that fear develop into a fighter's mentality after he'd caught him and brought him back inside the Tower—it had thrown Tony off. What kind of experiences turned a panic attack into a full-on flashback? And what kind of asthma was triggered by flashbacks? It was like a person having pollen allergies in the winter—the illness was there, but it was all backwards.

Tony knew, from the background check that he'd conducted, that Percy had been expelled from many schools when he was younger, but he hadn't given it much thought. He himself didn't trust the school system, so he'd chalked Percy up to being one of those kids that the rigid system simply didn't agree with. But seeing Percy's breakdown, and hearing Annabeth give an explanation of 'traumatic experiences', he wondered if all of those expulsions were more significant then he'd initially assumed.

 _"It appears that the media is rather occupied by another event that has occurred in the city, Boss."_ Friday's voice sounded odd—almost . . . ominous.

Tony frowned. "What?"

Headlines, tweets, and comments started filling his screens.

 _"Holy s*** I just got stoned by a bird!"_

" _Is this the apocalypse!?"_ (In response: " _I thought that was on Dec 2012 . . . #ApocalypseIsOVER"_ )

 _GLOBAL PHENOMENON: Millions of birds across the world were seen to have fallen from the sky . . . broken windows, monuments . . . millions in damages . . ._

 _"WTF why is this bird naked?"_ (In response: _"This one smells like rotten eggs! EWWW"_ )

 _Normal occurrences in the past . . ._

 _"This is definitely not f****** normal!"_

Tony didn't bother to read any further—he'd gotten the gist of it.

"Uhhh, so . . ." He massaged his temples. "Is this the apocalypse? Because I haven't made a bucket list yet."

 _"I have taken the liberty of making one for you."_

"Wait, so this _is_ the apocalypse?"

 _"It does not appear so. Similar events have occurred in the past, but with key differences. Past occurrences have involved large disturbances, such as fireworks, which damage a bird's ability to use the earth's magnetic field to stabilize their flight path. This time however, it seems that all of the birds were suffering from illness. The pigeon on the landing pad had a very severe infection, explaining the rotten egg smell. Many birds that appear naked had very severe cases of feather disease, along with other illnesses. Many rare conditions have also surfaced. What is most significant is that all cases appear to be fatal as a direct result of disease, and not trauma sustained from falling, in the case of birds that were in mid-flight._

"So, what—this is an epidemic of bird diseases? How is this even possible? Did they just _get_ the disease while flying or standing—or perching, or whatever birds do? Because the last I checked, that was impossible."

 _"Experts are unsure. The World Health Organization is considering an emergency meeting to discuss potential impacts upon humans._ "

"You mean the birds can spread these diseases?" Tony asked, alarmed.

 _"It appears unlikely. Many of these diseases are incompatible with the human body. However, the risk of contracting illnesses such as the avian influenza may have risen because of this occurrence."_

"And it's still going on?"

 _"No. It appears that the event began and finished in the space of 15 seconds. It is unknown as to whether it will happen again._ "

Tony leaned back in his chair, trying to cope with all of the information he had just learned. "I guess we should hold off on throwing out the bird, for now. Maybe I'll get someone to dissect it later, see if we can find out some more info." Tony paused. "And there's no mention of someone falling from the Tower?"

 _"There are a few comments. One person even managed to take a picture. However, Percy's head was turned away, and the rest of his body is distorted because of the speed at which he was falling."_

"I suppose that's good," Tony murmured absently.

 _"It appears the Tower's surveillance cameras caught something, however."_

"Well, bring it up." Tony said, twirling his wrench.

A clear, pristine video appeared on the screen. Tony watched as Percy plummeted down just as something white entered the camera's vision, catching Percy's shirt. Friday froze the image, following the white line that extended from Percy's shirt, and zoomed in on a building ledge in the background.

Tony squinted just as the picture was enlarged, and then his eyes widened in surprise. "Well, well, look who we have here."

It was a person crouched on the ledge, clad in a red and blue costume. "New York's friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man."

 _"It appears that he was on the verge of saving Percy when Wanda stopped his fall."_

"Looks like Percy had nothing to worry about—everybody was lining up to catch him." Tony joked.

 _"It would be wise to inform the rest of the team of this development. If not of Spider-Man, then at least the phenomenon with the birds."_ Friday said, knowing her boss too well.

Tony sighed. He didn't want to talk to anybody, besides Friday, at the moment. "Wise? Doesn't seem like it to me."

 _"Considering that I am capable of processes that would require more than 100 human brains to complete . . ."_

"Okay, okay." Tony muttered before getting up. "Remind me again how you got to be so smart."

 _"Why, because of you, Boss."_ Friday responded serenely.

"Exactly. So why do I feel like you belittle me half the time?" Tony asked, frowning, as he left the room.

Friday didn't answer.

* * *

Annabeth winced as Tony stood in the doorway, looking highly offended. "Yes—sorry. I didn't mean it in that way. Stark Industries is a great opportunity to pick up skills and experience. And I know many people look up to your company as the 'final destination'. However, for me, it's more like the push I need to get my career off the ground. Stark Industries holds a lot of prestige worldwide," Annabeth continued, hoping she wasn't making her situation worse, and wondering if she was about to break a record for shortest time being an employee of Stark Industries. "And that will be helpful for me later on, when I start looking for government contracts."

"So you're that kind of architect." Tony frowned. "The one who wants to build the next great monument."

Annabeth nodded. "Yes, exactly."

Tony was silent for a moment, still frowning. Then he relented, "I guess that's a good explanation. I still don't forgive you for calling _Stark Industries_ a _stepping stone_ , but I understand."

Annabeth gave an inward sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"No problem." Tony turned to Steve, his gaze hardening slightly. "There's something you need to see."

"The general?"

"No, something else."

Steve nodded curtly. He got up, and then looked to Annabeth. "I'm sorry to leave you. Will you be okay here by yourself . . . ?"

Annabeth gave a reassuring smile, turning back to Percy. "Yes, I'll be fine."

* * *

"So, you're saying this has happened before?" Clint asked, looking at the screens filled with the news on the phenomenon.

" _Yes_ , but not like this." Tony said again with a sigh.

Natasha was frowning at the screens. "I haven't seen anything like this before."

"Huh." Sam leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing the screens. "Well, there's not much we can do about it unless someone actually managed to orchestrate the entire thing. And even then, it's more a problem for, what, pest control?"

"I just thought you might like to know." Tony said, reaching for another glass of alcohol. He paused—on second thought, coffee might be better right now.

They'd been discussing the event with the birds for almost an hour now, to no avail. The general was late, for reasons that none of them knew.

"Maybe he got held up by the birds." Rhodes had said. "I think he's flying in from Washington."

 _"Boss, General Ross has arrived."_

The room immediately got silent, and then everyone was getting to their feet, tension building in the air.

"Great, send him up." Tony said, sipping his coffee, seemingly unconcerned. He walked over to the elevator, ready to welcome their guest.

Less than a minute later, the elevator opened and the general walked out, flanked by two officers.

General Ross may have been the US Secretary of Defense now, but he would always be a military man, through and through. Dressed in formal military attire, his many service ribbons were displayed prominently on his left breast. He was in his 50s, at least, but had clearly maintained his physique long after being honourably discharged from the military so many years ago. And walking in with a straight back and a hard gaze, he gave an imposing appearance that, paired with his stern principles, had so fittingly earned him his nickname "Thunderbolt".

"General, nice to see you again." Tony offered his free hand (his other hand bore his coffee).

"Tony Stark." The general's voice was gruff, more so than it had been on the phone. He took his hand and shook it firmly. "It's been a long few years."

Tony laughed. "Yes, it has. Harder on you than for me, it seems."

"And always the joker," General Ross scowled.

"Why so late?" Tony asked.

"Damned birds." The general said. "Pilot panicked and someone else had to take the wheel. If we'd been back in Vietnam, I would have found him guilty of cowardice. And of course, the airstrip was in chaos—amateurs." The general turned his gaze on the rest of the team, before it landed squarely on Steve.

"Captain." The general approached him, stopping a few feet away. He didn't offer his hand.

"General Ross." Steve said curtly. He didn't offer his hand either.

The two were almost equal in height, but could not have been more different in principles.

"I didn't come here to have a chat," General Ross said. "I have business elsewhere in New York. I did come with a warning however."

"And that is?"

"No more searches for your friend, Captain. James Barnes has no friends and no allies. He is an enemy of the state, and is wanted by Homeland, the FBI, and the CIA, not to mention all of the other countries who want to get their hands on him for his crimes. I'm in charge of the hunt now, and next month at the Summit, if he's not yet caught, it'll become an international effort."

"You can't tell the Avengers what they can and can't do." Steve said quietly, his tone dangerous.

The general's eyes narrowed. "Watch me. The government has been calling for control for years now, and that's what the entire world will get at the Summit next month. It's been a long time coming, Captain. It's time for change. Your search for a wanted man only helped prove that. And your days of taking down HYDRA without constraint are numbered—soon, someone else will be making those decisions for you."

General Ross then turned towards Rhodes, pinning him under his imposing gaze. "And I'll be having a word with you later."

Rhodes swallowed slightly. "Yes, sir."

Without another word, the general turned on his heel and strode back towards the elevator.

"And don't think I won't know if you keep looking for your friend, Captain. I always know." General Ross called over his shoulder. " _I'll_ be hunting James Barnes now."

"Like you hunted Bruce Banner?" Steve asked coldly.

The general entered the elevator with his officers and turned back to look at him, a cold smile on his face. "Exactly."

The elevator doors closed shut.

* * *

 **So, whose side are you on? Team Cap or Team Iron Man? (search it up online** — **the pics look great ;) )**

 **And remember: the goal is to get to 147 reviews. But topping that would be awesome! :)**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **TheAdaptableWriter:** _Hi! Thank you so much! And I've been considering your OC, but if I do actually use him, I want to develop his character well before introducing him, so he may be introduced in late May, after my exams, unfortunately._

 **Guest (April 22):** _Thank you! Your review was seriously awesome to read! And it's great to know that people still read the A/N long after a chapter has been posted :) :)_

 **Lizaloves:** _You would imagine correct! The Avengers can be a nosy bunch ;) And thank you! I've been working on them ;)_

 **Aviendhaphiragon:** _I haven't actually—I've never heard of it before. Perhaps I'll watch it this summer :) And thank you—keep up the reviews, they're awesome!_

 **MoonLightNinja:** _I know! And all of them of hard choices to make soon, regarding their loyalties. And it looks like Percy is staying in the Tower for the night!_

 **Teleina:** _Thank you for the great review—it was very enlightening to read! Keep them up :)_

 **Rake1810:** _Fury should be coming soon, actually. Hopefully in the next chapter or so :)_

 **Cooljoanna14:** _Nope, but Bucky should be coming soon, hopefully. True—Percy's loyal to the end :) I think I'll be keeping Bucky as human, unfortunately, just to fit with the Marvel plot_

 **Mortal Gods:** _Thank you for all the reviews—they were great to read! Keep it up!_

 **Russel Lawrence:** _Hopefully you got my PM? Let me know your thoughts! :)_

 **Flying Through Clouds:** _Thank you! And you'll find out a little about the birds in this chapter :)_


	11. When Gods Come Knocking

**SORRY! I deleted this chapter, instead of simply updating it . . . The only difference is that it now contains the A/N concerning my hiatus.**

 **Note: please read the A/N at the end of this chapter. It's imperative that I get everyone's opinion.**

 **MUST READ** **: Again, just repeating from last chapter: I'm changing the title to "Divided I Stand" in the next few days. I'm saying this again because my A/N was rather long last chapter, and this detail may have gotten lost in all the paragraphs.**

 **ALSO MUST READ:** **It's come to my attention that some of you may have missed a particular chapter of this story—not by any fault of your own, but of mine. For the chapter "Anniversaries II" I was planning to release a mega-giant chapter, but decided in the end to release it in two installments. Hence, there are two chapters: "Anniversaries II: Preparations" and "Anniversaries II: More Prep". Because I released these two chapters in such quick succession (within 3 hours of each other), I think some of you may have missed the "Anniversaries II: Preparations" and gone straight to the "More Prep" under the assumption that this was the one and only update of the week. And so, Thor's narration in the last chapter would be undoubtedly confusing for you. If you did miss the chapter, I sincerely apologize—I should have released the chapters further apart. Please go back and read it if you haven't—it does cover some important stuff, and it also has a short Steve Rogers POV.**

 **So, I know that in some countries,** ** _Civil War_** **has already come out in theatres (Ex: France, April 27th). If you have watched** ** _Civil War_** **, I'd ask that you keep any details of the movie out of reviews and PMs. I hope this request seems reasonable—some people don't like spoilers, and I seriously fear that I'm going to lose my motivation to write if I watch the movie at this point.**

 **So, it's apparent from reviews that the growing Civil War conflict is not quite a clean cut between Team Cap and Team Iron Man. ;) A popular stance that you guys are taking is somewhere in between the two sides or neutral. We also have a Team Thor, and a Team "can't control heroes".**

 **Great job with reviews again! You guys went right over the goal of 147! Let's see if we can go over 180 for this chapter, shall we?**

* * *

When Gods Come Knocking

". . . and the other is located somewhere on Midgard." Thor finished, having already recounted their travels for the last two days.

"Midgard, you say?" Odin asked, frowning. "Our youngest realm? Interesting."

Son and father were standing side by side on a balcony that looked over the many courtyards and gardens of Asgard. The courtyards were emptier than usual, however, and the gardens looking a little worse for wear—the season's unusually cold temperatures were keeping people inside and stunting the growth of the flowers and trees, despite the rich Asgardian soil that they grew in.

"Father," Thor started cautiously. "How do you think Loki came to be in possession of the scepter that housed the mind stone?"

Odin's frown deepened, and he remained silent for a moment. Finally, he said, "What do you think?"

"I think that someone gave it to him." Thor responded. His hand tightened on the railing as he thought about his brother. "No one, not even Loki, could have survived that fall from the Bifrost all those years ago. Someone must have saved him."

"What are you dancing around, Thor?" Odin turned his piercing gaze on his son, sensing Thor's hesitancy.

"How did Loki come to have that army of Chitauri? How did he get his hands on the scepter and the Mind Stone? And what was he intending to do once he'd had all of Midgard submissive to him? Rule?" Thor shook his head. "None of it speaks any sense. Loki hated the humans—why would he have desired to rule over them for the rest of his life?"

"You suspect he had help," Odin concluded, seeing what Thor was implying.

"Not simply help—someone who led him forward. Someone who directed his actions." Perhaps this was only Thor's imagination, but in some ways, he wished it to be true. After the Battle of New York, following Loki's imprisonment in Asgard's prisons, the rift between him and his brother had become a full chasm of animosity. Thor understood why Loki had hated him, but he didn't know where all their former familial love and warmth had gone. But if there had been someone else in the picture . . . Thor desperately wanted to believe that Loki's hate for him had been at least partly fostered by someone else, and hadn't been inherent in Loki.

"What if this same person gave him the army of Chitauri?" Thor continued, knowing that his arguments were becoming more and more desperate and possibly unlikely. "Those creatures were banished aeons ago—it would take not only a silvertongue and a sharp mind to find them—you would need intimate knowledge of their banishment."

"You seem to possess such intimate knowledge."

Thor shook his head. "Only what information that I could glean from the Chitauri's strange language, when they chose to communicate aloud during that battle on Midgard. Where they were sent when banished. . . only those who are also banished would be able to find the place, let alone dare to seek it."

"Freyr said that whomever was hidden from him used shadows to conceal themselves—much like if one were to use dark _seidr_. The chances that they possess the skill to hide themselves from Freyr's eye and have knowledge of the Infinity Stones . . . it is ill foreboding. It is possible that they already know of the location of the last two missing Stones. What if they saved Loki when he fell from the Bifrost 5 years ago, and in turn, asked for his help? What if, 3 years ago, they _sent_ him to Midgard with the army of Chitauri in an attempt to remove all resistance, so that their search for the Stone in that Realm would be easy and unhindered?"

It was more than a stretch, to link this person who was hiding from Freyr to someone who may have influenced Loki, and who Thor wasn't even sure existed, but it was too much of a coincidence. Too many events that required exclusive knowledge and superior powers had occurred in rapid succession over the last few years.

Odin stared out over the courtyards.

"Father?" Thor asked finally, frowning.

"Hm, yes." Odin shifted slightly and looked to his son. "I suppose we must find these stones before this person comes into possession of them. Otherwise, I fear that it will not end well for us."

Thor nodded. "I would like to return to Midgard and inform the Avengers of this potential threat—and perhaps ask for their help in the search for the Stone in their realm."

Odin seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments, though it could have been Thor's imagination. He finally nodded in return. "Go. The winter fast approaches, and I sense that it will be far earlier than usual."

"As if the snow would fall when the trees have yet to even begin shedding their leaves." Thor joked. "You worry too much, Father."

Odin did not return his smile. "Go, Thor. I'm sure your friends are waiting for you."

Then the All-Father turned and walked back inside, leaving Thor alone on the balcony to frown.

Was that . . . envy, that he had detected beneath his father's neutral tones? Thor shook his head, brandishing Mjölnir and leaping up from the balcony to shoot towards the Observatory. _Folly_ , Thor thought to himself, shaking his head again as he flew over the Bifrost. _My father, envious of my Midgardian friends? Absolute folly._

* * *

Clint looked at his watch, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We should get going, guys."

It was 11:43 pm, and Clint was tired. Tired with want for sleep, and fed up with Tony and Steve—the two were going at it again.

"He hunted Bruce for years." Steve said quietly. "How could you stand to smile and shake his hand?"

"Oh, it's _Bruce_ now?" Tony downed another drink of heavy alcohol. "When did you two ever hit first base?"

"Stark—"

"He left us!" Tony snapped. "That stupid, goody two-shoes doctor _left_!"

Clint sighed. The argument was clearly turning into another issue entirely. Deciding to let the two tire each other out, he left the room with Wanda. Sam and Rhodes had already drifted off, leaving Natasha and Vision to silently watch the argument—and perhaps ensure that fists didn't start flying.

"You didn't have to defend me." Wanda spoke after they had safely left the shouting radius. She was clearly bothered by the fact that everyone had stood up to Tony when he'd had a go at her earlier.

"No, but I did anyway." Clint pulled her to his side as they walked, but she resisted, leaning away.

"I can look after myself." She frowned.

"I know that. But right now, you don't have to." Clint stopped walking, turning to look at her. "You know that, right? You've got a life here, a family."

Wanda didn't meet his gaze. "I know that." She muttered. "I just . . . when it was just Pietro and me with Strucker—we looked after each other. And now . . ." Wanda shrugged, looking helpless.

"Hey . . ." Clint enveloped her in a hug, and she didn't complain. "I know you miss him. I wish I could have gotten to know him better." For any other person, Clint never would have said those words—they tended to cause more harm than good. But with Wanda, they brought back her better memories.

Just as Clint predicted, Wanda began to reminisce about her brother, her breath light on his ear. "I remember one time . . . we'd just started developing our powers, and he told me . . ." Clint could feel Wanda smile briefly. "He told me that, one day, he would fly."

Clint drew back, holding her shoulders gently. He couldn't help but see her as another one of his kids—an older daughter, a sister to the three munchkins he had back at Homestead. He was proud of her for reasons that he had yet to be able to apply to his own children for another few years—her stubborn independence and fiery passion. So many of the Avengers had found her difficult to befriend, but Clint had passed that hurdle in the first few months. Now? They were 'like' family—she came over to Homestead every month, and he visited the training facility every week. But Clint didn't want to consider their relationship familial—that was too normal. Best friends? Siblings? Perhaps a hybrid of the two came closer to describing the unique bond that they shared.

"Well—it looks like you'll have to do the flying for both of you." Clint joked lightly.

Wanda wiped away a single tear, sniffing. "Yes, I suppose."

"You will," Clint said firmly. "After all—you're the Scarlet Witch, aren't you? If you're still saying no to the broom, you'll need to find some other way to fly." He teased.

Wanda frowned. She hadn't had any say in her name—in fact, the public had chosen it for her. "Watch your words, little bird." She warned. "Once I've gotten the hang of flying . . ." Wanda drifted off, her eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. She was communicating with someone telepathically. Then her eyes snapped back into focus. "I should go," she said, just as there was a yell in the direction of the room where they'd left Tony and Steve. "Vision said that they're becoming angry—well, angrier," she corrected herself when Clint raised a brow, "and he doesn't know what to do."

"He's possibly the most powerful member of our team, and he doesn't know how to stop an argument?" Clint asked, a little incredulous. He knew Vision was rather lost when it came to human affairs—interactions when he'd first joined the team had been a little tense, to say the least. Nevertheless, he'd thought that Wanda's company would have made him a little more sensible and knowledgeable.

"Well, he's considering manacles at the moment . . ." Wanda winced. "I should go before he makes the situation worse."

Clint shuddered. "Yes, go. Jeez—I don't want to find out what would happen if he managed to cuff the two of them."

Wanda gave an apologetic smile, along with a quick hug and a whispered "Thanks", before dashing off towards the raised voices.

"And afterwards, we're practicing your telepathy—it leaves you too vulnerable!" Clint called after her just as she turned the corner.

 _If you wish, little bird. If you wish._ Her voice echoed quietly in his mind before retreating.

Clint shook his head for a moment, rubbing his temples lightly. Wanda's telepathy always left him a little dizzy afterwards. Once the spell had passed, he walked down the hall, deciding to check on Annabeth and Percy. Steve had told him that Annabeth had decided to stay at the Tower for the night while Percy rested.

Percy and Annabeth . . . Clint knew Natasha was more than a little suspicious of them, and if she were anyone else, he would give her a small talk about when was a good time to be suspicious, and when wasn't. But she wasn't anyone else—she was Natasha Romanoff.

Nevertheless, everybody had secrets—Percy and Annabeth couldn't be expected to be any different. Yes, he was curious and a little suspicious, but no more. They were kids—not . . . undercover agents. He knew from first-hand experience—young spies were always easy to spot.

He stopped outside the guest room Percy and Annabeth were staying in, and found the door slightly ajar. He quietly pushed the door open, stepping into the room.

"Hello . . . ?"

He was met with a rather adorable sight. Percy was asleep on the bed, still out like a light. Annabeth was curled next to him, partially under the covers, her head tucked beneath his chin while her arm was thrown across his chest, as if determined to be aware that he was breathing at all times.

Clint moved quietly to the other spare bed in the room, picking up one of the comforters and returning to the sleeping pair to gently draw it over them, tucking in the sides, all the while smiling faintly.

How it reminded him of his own three kids. He sighed quietly, leaving the room with nearly silent footsteps and carefully closing the door. There were too many kids everywhere—Coulson would tell him he was getting soft, if he were still alive.

 _Damn, Coulson . . . Why'd you have to play the hero?_ Clint had asked this question too many times ever since he'd learned of his death. _But then again—don't I?_

Clint wondered if that's where he'd end up one day—dead because of one too many bad guys. He hoped not. He couldn't leave Laura and the kids—even the thought of that possibility was too painful to bear. And he still had a few renovations to complete. They would only get finished if his heart kept beating.

* * *

Percy was having a dream. Yes, one of _those_ dreams (but no, not _that_ kind of dream—get your head out of the gutter people). And he really wasn't in the mood.

He could remember the bird . . . and that was it. Everything that had happened outside his body afterwards was either like a radio with a really bad signal, or a radio with no signal at all. Fuzz or zilch.

Inside his mind, however, it hadn't been pretty.

He'd been back in Tartarus, but this time as a by-stander, watching as he and Annabeth faced off with Akhlys. It'd been in the same place, and everything was in the same position, but the mood? It had been more than just dangerous and tense—it had been _wrong._

Standing on the sidelines, watching the encounter unfold, he'd gotten this feeling of horrible dread; Annabeth was about to get hurt. He didn't know how he knew, or why—Akhlys never even managed to lay a single dirty finger on Annabeth when they'd been in Tartarus. However, stuck in that flashback, or whatever it was, he _knew_ —he just knew that danger was about to befall Annabeth. And he didn't have Riptide with him, no matter how much he searched his non-existent pockets. So he could only watch as Akhlys stalked towards the Percy in the flashback while Annabeth tried to distract her, feeling an ever growing sense of dread that something terrible was about to happen. Then, just as Akhlys was summoning her pool poison, he had been yanked violently out of the flashback/whatever it was and dropped onto the beach.

And now, the sudden cool breeze of sea salt and the quiet rush of waves threw him off, clashing with the residual heavy, sulfurous air and dark dim of the Pit. Then he realized that his hands were shaking, and sweat was trickling down the sides of his face, and his knees were so weak . . . he staggered forward a step before his legs could no longer hold him up, and then he was keeling over in the sand, laying on the heated grains, trying to suck in all of the warmth of the sun because, gods, he was so damn cold, but no, stop, he was boiling hot and his shirt was sticking right to his skin—

"—ercy! Percy!"

Someone was pulling him, lifting him up. Strong, warm arms that Percy fell into, his body no longer under his control. He just wanted peace, peace from all the ache, peace from all the dread, just—

Peace.

"Percy."

He finally registered that he was standing, steadied by someone's hands on his shoulders . . . He looked, looked into the sea-green eyes of his father.

Poseidon was frowning slightly, his face tinged with the slightest shade of worry and concern—the greatest amount of emotion he was allowed to express in front of his son. The god was wearing his usual outfit of leather sandals, Bermuda shorts, and a colorful Tommy Bahama shirt, looking right at home on the beach.

"Dad?" Percy asked, rather surprised and still shaking a little. Gods didn't visit demigods in their dreams very often, and for the past year, there had been relatively little contact between the two. Really, the gods had no need for their children—there was no impending disaster or fast approaching war. And with the voice of Delphi extinguished for the time being, they couldn't even receive the quests that many gods so dearly loved to disrupt—for now, they simply sent out teams of demigods when the need arose.

"Percy," Poseidon said, looking . . . relieved? "How are you?"

The question was so simply, but it was loaded with meaning.

Percy shrugged. "Good."

Poseidon didn't speak for a few moments, his frown clearly indicating that he was aware that Percy wasn't being quite honest.

What was Percy supposed to say? He could spill all his problems right then and there, and his father would still be frowning slightly—he couldn't do anything else. The ancient laws forbid it. And anyways, he'd gotten significantly better over the last year. If Poseidon had come to visit him a month after the war, he wouldn't have been able to answer him without breaking down in tears.

It was in the weeks following the war that the Camps began to see the full extent of the war's impacts. With nothing to do, no battle strategies to form or enemies to fight, demigods were left to their own devices, and thoughts inevitably turned to the people they had lost—friends and family. To the often atrocious acts that they'd committed and the terrible experiences they had faced.

At one point, the infirmary spilled into the Apollo cabin from the sheer number of demigods who claimed they were physically sick. It took a few days or so before they all realized that they had an epidemic of mental illnesses on their hands. That's when Will started to put the Apollo kids through the post-war treatment program that would give them the skills to handle the flashbacks and paranoia (which were almost always indicative of PTSD), hallucinations, insomnia, and many other mental health problems, along with the inevitable, overwhelming guilt. Camp Jupiter went through a similar process, and ironically, it brought the Greeks and Romans even closer together as they shared each other's grief.

Percy thought it was Leo's return that started to bring the two camps out of their heavy and desolate mood. Smackdab in the afternoon, while sitting by the stream in Camp Half-Blood, he'd heard a familiar creak and looked up . . . to see Festus, with Leo and Calypso waving and laughing on his back. It'd been like Christmas arriving early. Welcoming back their friend whom they'd thought was dead brought about a joyous mood that spread through both camps like wildfire, and Leo's boundless enthusiasm and resilient optimism were absolutely contagious. Sure, it was a little awkward in the beginning between Percy and Calypso, especially given their history, but they'd quickly gotten over it. And the demigods, who had been consumed with the past, started to look to the future.

So, looking at his father now, hearing him ask how he was doing, there wasn't much to say.

"How are you?" Percy asked rather awkwardly, in an attempt to be polite.

Poseidon frowned for a little longer, before his face cleared. "Good, good. Fishing season has been very successful, and I have yet to get in trouble with the game keepers this year."

"But that's not why you're here." Percy guessed. Gods never visited just to say hello. Poseidon shook his head, confirming Percy's suspicions. "Unfortunately, no. I've come with a warning."

Percy suppressed a sigh. How predictable. "What?"

"You need to leave the Avengers Tower, immediately. Thor Odinson is coming, and Zeus fears that he may reveal you and Annabeth to be demigods, intentionally or otherwise."

"Thor Odinson?" The name sounded familiar.

"Yes—the son of Odin." Percy could have hit himself on the forehead—of course. The god from space. "Zeus can sense him entering his domain, and he's not very happy about it." Poseidon started to frown again. "In fact, he becomes rather angry whenever the Asgardian visits. Relations between Olympus and Asgard have been strained for centuries—we don't want a conflict to arise now." Poseidon grip on Percy's shoulders tightened slight, as if he was trying to convey the importance of what he was telling him. "You must wake now, and then you and Annabeth must leave right away, before Thor senses you."

"Wha—"

"I mean it, Percy." Poseidon looked hard in his eyes. "Zeus will not be happy if Thor discovers you two in the Tower. You must leave. In fact, staying away from that entire group of 'superheroes'," the god grimaced as he said the word, "would probably be best—they are too inquisitive for their own good."

Percy blinked, not liking where his father was going. "Bu—"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Poseidon looked genuinely unhappy. "But this comes straight from Zeus—I cannot do anything about it, and neither can you. It'll be safer for al—"

"Dad, they're my friends!" Percy broke through, finally getting angry despite of who he was speaking to. He couldn't believe it—just when he'd started to meet new people outside of Camp after a whole year of isolation, people who didn't care for demigods or monsters or all that other Greek stuff, the gods, who had been absent for _months_ , were now telling him, "No, sorry, we can't tell you who you make friends with—but those people are _off limits_." Sure, maybe the other Avengers might not end up being anything more than acquaintances, but Tony and Clint? Definitely friend material. And the gods were ripping it all up.

Poseidon pursed his lips, but stepped back. He seemed to be harbouring some kind of deep worry—something that went far beyond their current argument. "I'm sorry, Percy." He repeated, as if he couldn't say it enough. "You had best wake up now."

Percy only stared at him, hurt that his father was rebuffing him.

And even as the dream dissolved, Percy continued to stare at his father, who could only look back at him with sad, sad eyes. Was that . . . was that a tear?

Before the dream dissipated entirely, Percy thought he heard a voice.

 _Be careful, Percy. Please be careful._

* * *

Percy woke to Annabeth shaking his shoulders none too gently, urgently speaking his name.

"We need to go!" Annabeth said. She looked slightly panicked, and Percy could guess why.

"You had a dream too?" He slurred, struggling to his knees, which wobbled beneath him for a moment.

"What—?" Annabeth's eyes widening slightly.

Percy nodded. "Pose—"

Annabeth leapt forward and kissed him, cutting off his words. Percy staggered back, taken by surprise, and rubbed his rather bruised lips as Annabeth leaned away from him. "Wha—"

"Friday, what time is it?" Annabeth asked suddenly, loud and clear. Percy stared at her even more, wondering if something had happened to her while he was out.

 _"It is currently 12:18 pm."_ Friday replied serenely.

Annabeth raise an eyebrow at Percy, giving him a meaningful look. After a moment, once he'd had gotten over the fact that he'd been out for over 7 hours, Percy got it—Tony's butler/servant robot was listening. Always listening. And probably watching, as well.

"You came on a little rough—miss me?" Percy joked, covering for her desperate move.

"You wish." Annabeth said, rolling her eyes. But she looked clearly relieved—she had _definitely_ missed him. "You know, there's a piece of advice my mother gave me, _very_ recently: don't overstay your invitation at other people's places—especially when _other_ guests might be coming over later." Annabeth looked hard at Percy.

He caught on. "Yeah, my dad said something similar the other day." He didn't mention the odd warning that Poseidon had given afterward—it was still sending chills down his spine.

"We'd better get going, then," Annabeth said, heading to the door with Percy following her lead. "You never know what kind of guests Tony Stark gets from one second to another—I doubt all of them are completely agreeable." She opened the door. "Friday, it's late, so we'd better get going. Can you please let Tony know that we had a great time tonight, and thank him for the job?"

 _"Of course. Have a safe trip home."_ Friday responded.

"Thank you, and we will."

Annabeth led the two of them down the hall, letting her memory guide the two of them back to the elevator, and hoped that they would be long gone before Thor arrived.

* * *

Thor arrived on the landing pad of the Avengers Tower, the energies of the Bifrost dissipating around him and leaving the metal beneath his feet slightly smoking.

The first thing that struck him as out of place was the smell.

Midgard was full of revolting smells, primarily because of their wasteful consumption of resources and the consequential overwhelming amount of toxic gases that they emitted on a daily basis. Today, however, most definitely took the prize for the worst stench that Thor had ever had the misfortune of smelling. It was a smell of rot that rose from the landing pad beneath him, that wafted by on the winds and circulated up from the streets below. And for Thor's particularly sensitive nose, it was absolutely disgusting. If he were someone not familiar with the reek of rotten flesh, he would have puked already.

He strode into the Tower, hoping that the circulated air inside would rid his nose of the scent. It did—slightly. Walking into one of many lounge rooms, he came across an odd scene.

Stark, in his Iron Man suit, was currently trying to burn through a pair of manacles around his wrists that had somehow become seamlessly welded to the leg of a metal table in the centre of the room. The captain was stalking out of the room, frowning heavily. And the girl, Wanda, was speaking to Vision.

"You shouldn't have done that, Vision."

"I was simply trying to diffuse the situation." He responded, looking rather confused as to why Wanda sounded so exasperated.

Wanda sighed. "But not like that—using words would have been much better."

"Their body language said otherwise—they would not have listened to me." Vision pointed out, as if it was obvious. "It's been proven that when an aggressor does not listen, properly applied force can be the best alternative."

"But you didn't even try!" Wanda threw up her hands, fed up. "You just assumed and went ahead with chaining him to the table!"

Vision was silent for a moment, frowning at Wanda. He was clearly disturbed by her frustration. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I suppose it would not hurt to try speaking first, next time."

Wanda sighed. "Thank you." She turned around, finally catching sight of Thor.

"Hello—am I interrupting something?" Thor asked cautiously. He had a slight pressure at the back of his head, and rubbed it unconsciously.

"Hi." Wanda looked at him intensely, and he was rather thrown off by her hard stare. "No, no," she said finally. "Just a little spat."

Vision opened his mouth to say something, but Wanda held her hand back at him, as if sensing what he was about to do. Vision closed his mouth.

"How are you?" She asked formally.

The two weren't quite familiar with one another, considering that he'd left shortly after their battle against Ultron. Thor supposed that it would be best to form relations with her—she was an Avenger, after all.

"Good, thank you." Thor rubbed the back of his head again. "I've come from Asgard bearing news regarding the Infinity Stones."

"Oh, great." Tony said sarcastically, his helmet receding from around his head as he turned to glare at Thor. "Let's talk about that later, shall we? After I get these damned things off me—" Tony turned back to his cutting job with the manacles, and gave a frustrated jerk. "What the hell are these made of, Vision? _Vibranium_?"

"Here." Thor strode forward and with a swing of his hammer, shattered the cuffs. He also broke the leg of the table in the process, but he really couldn't do anything about that—they'd been _melded_ together, for Valhalla's sake.

"Thank you," Tony muttered, rising to his feet and stepping out of his suit. The machine closed again and flew out of the room, out of the Tower, returning to wherever Tony stored it.

"No problem." Thor responded, the Midgardian phrase slipping effortlessly from his tongue. He'd developed a rather large number of habits unique to the realm. "I—" He stopped in mid-sentence, the pressure in his head growing even further and starting to become rather familiar.

No.

Not possible.

"It looks like you have guests here," Thor said, trying not to bolt out of the room. "I believe I must have missed the party."

"Yeah, you did. And they're not guests—they're friends. Who are probably staying for the night," Tony added, sighing. "I need another drink." He muttered, walking off. "We'll talk about the Stones tomorrow, okay? When I'm a little more sober, or drunk. Not sure which yet."

"Of course," Thor said, already hurrying out of the room. "I'd like to go and meet these new friends of yours."

"They're probably asleep!" Tony called after him.

Thor barely heard him, striding through the many rooms, letting the growing beacon of power that radiating out guide his feet. It wasn't intense enough to indicate a god, but intense nonetheless. It was them. He knew it, could feel it in his gut.

Children of the gods.

But what were they doing here?

* * *

"Come on!" Annabeth muttered, frustrated and a little panicked now as she saw that the elevator was in use. She was starting to sense an intense radiation of power—something worryingly similar to that of a god. And it was getting closer.

 _"I apologize for the wait. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff are currently occupying the two available elevator cars."_

"It's okay," Annabeth said, pacing back and forth, agitated. "We can wait."

"Um, Annabeth?" Percy said, sounding nervous.

"Not now, Percy. Let's just get out of here first, and then we'll talk." Annabeth said distractedly, her head down, thinking.

"No, _Annabeth_." Percy grabbed her arm and turned her towards the open hallway.

A man was approaching them. A tall, well-muscled man in a warrior's garb, with silver armour gleaming beneath a bright red cape. In his hand, he bore a giant war hammer. He stopped a few feet away, power radiating from him.

The elevator gave a pleasant _ding!_ and its metal doors slid open, ready to accept its newest load.

"Um." Percy swallowed. "Hi."

"Greetings." Thor Odinson gestured to the elevator with Mjölnir. "Why don't we step outside for a moment? I believe we have much to discuss."

* * *

 **. . . Thoughts? PLEASE READ PARAGRAPH BELOW.**

 **HIATUS? MUST READ: Okay, I'm going to give you guys a choice. I'm getting extremely behind on studying, and I need these marks. It takes at least 10 hours to write up each chapter, and that's time that is becoming increasingly scarce to find. So, would you like to wait approximately 3 weeks for the next chapter (until May 20 or 21st) or would you like the usual weekly chapters, except significantly shorter—so, 2000-3000 words? (PS: this chapter is about 5200 words, not including the A/N or responses to reviews). I cannot guarantee how quickly the action will move if I write 2000-3000 word chapters—you know how quickly some of my paragraphs can eat up the word count. However, I'm willing to try if you would like it. Keep in mind that following my exams, I'll be able to return to an updating schedule of 2-3 times a week. Please let me know. Even those of you who rarely review or PM, please do so now—I'd like to get an accurate gauge as to what the majority of you would like. Thank you.**

 **And let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Any questions? Ideas? Let's see if we can get over 180 reviews, shall we? :)**

 **Rake1810:** _I know I mentioned Fury might be in this chapter in response to your review (in chapter 9)—unfortunately, I wasn't able to fit him in. Hopefully, we'll see him soon. :)_

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **myonlycomment:** _So, I'm still rather new to fanfiction, and thus am not familiar with all the terms yet. I'm not quite sure what your review means - could you explain it to me? Or is that a really stupid question? Haha, let me know if it is - happens a lot with me._

 **The Mythic Scribe:** _Thank you! And I know! Marvel is really taking it to the next level, including all of these heroes!_

 **riptidedarkphoenix** : _Thank you—your review just made my day! Hopefully you continue to enjoy it :)_

 **Guest 567:** _Haha, yeah, I know. I tried to balance his portrayal as a steadfast supporter of government oversight, but it was difficult to remain neutral._

 **avidreader28:** _Thank you! And a little obsession for the story won't hurt—as long as you enjoy it :)_

 **MoonLightNinja:** _Hahaha, your review just made me burst out laughing—thank you for brightening my day! I know—the trailer just made the wait that much worst, waiting for months and months. Thank you! And we'll find out more about Spider-Man's position . . . hopefully soon ;) I don't know about Magnus Chase, simply because I haven't read the story. We'll see._

 **Vivliofagos** **:** _Thank you! Your review was really great to read, it's awesome to know that you considered it "well written"—that's one of my main goals in writing this story. Please keep up your reviews—they're always enjoyable to read!_

 **sbayless44** **:** _Thank you! Your review was great to read, and thank you for your assurances—I really don't know what I'm going to do with the Civil War movie in relation to this story, but your review gave me self-confidence, so really, thank you._

 **TheAdaptableWriter:** _Thank you! Your review really hit home for me—"You really know how to tell a story". That was seriously touching. Thank you._

 **Achievement:** _Hi! Yeah—hopefully this chapter starts to connect the two plotlines. We'll see in a few chapters or so just how important the Thor POV will become :) And y_ _es, I agree on your viewpoints—it's been ingrained in demigods to work freely and without oversight, so government control really wouldn't go over with them very well. That being said . . . well, we'll see. I don't want to constrain myself yet. I'm not sure how the demigods will play into this yet, simply because I'd like to develop the civil war plotline a little further, but I need to keep the demigods active so their plotline doesn't die out. Your ideas actually sparked some other ideas—I already had a plot laid out as to when Percy and Co. come out, but I'd like to integrate some of these new ideas. I'm not sure when you'll start seeing them, and I can't say with 100% certainty that they'll be written, but . . . we'll see :) And please, your reviews are great—they're never inconsequential. You give fantastic, well-developed ideas and thoughts, and I seriously appreciate the fact that you took the time to type these up and tell me them. Your thoughts on demigods having a beef with superheroes was also great to read—they actually also sparked some small ideas that may grow with time ;) There's one question I have: who's aperitif? Or is this a really stupid question? Haha, let me know if it is. And no offense taken - I actually don't live in the US. But really, seriously, thank you for all your awesome reviews._

 **Cooljoanna15:** _Yeah, I don't know how close I'm going to follow the marvel plot. Obviously, not to a T, because that wouldn't be creative at all, but we'll see . . . :) I'll let you know if I come to a conclusion._

 **Matt:** _You'll actually find out about all this in the next chapter hopefully, if I don't drag it out, so I'm going to play it close to the chest for a bit, but hopefully you can make some inferences based on this chapter :) As for them being friends . . . that has yet to be determined._

 **MortalGods:** _Your review was really great to read, and it's really humbling to know that you've drawn inspiration from this. You just completed my day—thank you._

 **willdawg992003** **:** _Well, we'll see . . . ;) no, no, don't worry—Annabeth wasn't assuming that the gods were perfect, she was simply illustrating a grudge that she has against the superheroes, which may be further developed as the story progresses. And we may see a much darker side to the gods later on . . . not sure yet, so I'll keep it at that._

 **CainVulsore** **:** _Yeah, it took a long time to lay out all the groundwork, but now, for all you faithful readers, you'll get to see how the story begins to progress and develop. And we'll see in upcoming chapters just how the demigods will react to this growing civil war ;)_

 **a person d:** _I said it before, and I'll say it again—I am in love with your phrases. Hufflepuff all the way! (Though I secretly support Griffindor and Ravenclaw, as well, and have a healthy respect for Slytherin) ;)_

* * *

 **A/N when I was on break:**

 **I know I can't have an A/N in place of a chapter, but please bear with me (my story's not going to get taken off the site because I'm doing this, right? Or wrong?)**

 **So, if you read my A/N last chapter, you would know that I asked all of you if you'd rather have shorter chapters, or me taking a hiatus. It's rather ironic, that in wanting to put the readers before myself, I asked all of you for your preference, and then you turned around and considered the predicament of the writer before that of the readers.**

 **Based upon the PMs and reviews I have received, I will be going on a short hiatus until my exams are finished. I sincerely apologize to those who asked for continued updates - there were quite a few of you, which makes me feel guilty, but not enough to guilt trip me into writing enough for a chapter, unfortunately - and can only offer the comfort that once I'm back writing, chapters will be of my best work and only my best. The next update should be posted on May 20th or May 21st. While I'm not writing too much, I'm planning, and I'll tell you now - you'll love it ;) Again, REALLY sorry - I never intended for this to occur in the first place.**

 **Thank you for your understanding (or not? That's okay - I would have the same reaction in your place) - it was a serious reality check for me today, that sometimes, it appears you understand me better than the people closest in my life. But then again, we're all human, right? I'm not going to consider the alternative. But don't get me wrong - I still REALLY want to write. I'm just trying to make the best decision for my mark, even though it may not be the decision that I myself would like.**

 **Please don't let this deter you from sending reviews or PMs - I'll continue to reply to them even though I'm not posting chapters.**

 **ResidentOfCabin6 proposed an interesting idea:** Vision managing to subdue Tony with manacles in order to stop the argument between him and Steve escalating even further - one shot. So, I never considered it before, but I'm considering it now. If anyone has some interesting ideas or parts of the story that they want as a one-shot, let me know. I won't get to a story like that until perhaps I finish this story, but I'll keep a list of suggestions, and write it when I have time.

 _Achievement (Guest) asked what kind of music I listen to, so I'll shamelessly promote them now, because I want to share with you an amazing array of songs. Instrumental music is my thing, along with folk songs and some other genres. I'm especially taken with music developed for movies. If you haven't listened to the soundtrack of movies like_ The Dark Knight, Transformers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, _I highly suggest you do. It'll blow your mind ;) Especially if you've watched the movies. The song I keep playing on my playlist is currently "Basalt" from Iron Man 3. The Avengers theme song, along with __main theme of Captain America: The Winter Soldier , are **very** good. And trailer music is good, too - the trailer music for _Civil War _is AWESOME. And for those of you who have watched Civil War already, I'm sure the composers have once again lived up to their reputation with a fantastic new soundtrack. I hope so, anyway._

 _Oh, and_ 300 Violin Orchestra? **Epic. Seriously - listen to it.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **bobbobin:** _Yeah, I wanted to use AI, but I'm not sure if FRIDAY is entirely one. I searched it up and some sites used UI, so that's what I ended up using. But if you have a better name/label/title, please let me know, and I'll use that. Thank you!_

 **Achievement (Guest):** _So, it appears my question was rather stupid - I searched up the term online when I first saw it, but I must have spelled it wrong, because I definitely didn't get_ _appetizers, haha. In regards to your concern with Thor . . . well, I can't say much, or I'll spoil it, but I'll say this: you won't be disappointed :). And songs? Well, I hope the above answer was sufficient :)_

 ** **Guest** : **_You asked so nicely . . . nearly guilt tripped me into writing a chapter, just like MoonLightNinja. But unfortunately, I won't be able to. I sincerely, sincerely apologize._

 **MoonLightNinja** : _Haha, your review had me laughing like crazy, so thank you :p I think you were the closest to guilt tripping me into writing more, but yeah . . . I'm really sorry. Hopefully, the future chapters will make up for this hiatus. And I don't think they'll be in this story - I don't watch Agents of SHIELD, and Coulson is pretty dead at the moment in this story. We'll see._

 **Nobody:** _Thank you for the suggestion - that's exactly what the next three weeks are going to look like :)_

 **Guest called "k with a dot and dot":** _Sorry about your username - I tried to type it in, and everytime I saved it, it would be filtered out - I have no idea why! Sorry! A_ _nd thank you - hopefully his character continues to live up to your expectations :)_


	12. That Other Side of Nature

**Sorry, I completely deleted the last chapter instead of simply updating it - "When Gods Come Knocking" is completely the same, except that it now has the A/N about the hiatus on the bottom.**

 **Hi! So, I've still got some exams, but** **this is my compromise with people who wanted continued updates—the chapter's shorter than my usual, but hopefully you enjoy it :)**

 **And I changed the name again. I know, I know—I'm sorry, hopefully this is the last time it happens. Can't guarantee it, but hopefully, hopefully . . .**

 **This is many chapters too late, but better late than never. Br0kenThOrn has been here for me and this story since the very first chapter, and I must admit now: this story was going to be pretty small—Percy, the Avengers, and that's pretty much it. But with their many questions, awesome ideas, and criticism, this story is starting to expand into the whole MC Universe, and will continue to do so. So Br0kenThOrn: thank you, thank you very much. I look forward to continue working with you in making this story the best it can be.**

 **Good luck to all of you who are currently going through exams and all the many other heartaches of life. If you need someone to talk to, I've always got a listening ear. It's rather ironic that in taking a break from writing, I've made so many new friends and acquaintances!**

 **I have not yet watched** ** _Civil War_** **. . . hopefully within a few weeks or so.**

 **Also, the A/N about my hiatus can now be found on the bottom of chapter 11.**

 **Now, I know that Thor isn't an actual god, but Annabeth and Percy don't know that—yet. Please keep this in mind while you read this chapter.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

That Other Side of Nature

 _A man was approaching them. A tall, well-muscled man in war-like garb, with silver armour gleaming beneath a bright red cape. In his hand, he bore a giant war hammer. He stopped a few feet away, power radiating from him._

 _The elevator gave a pleasant ding! and its metal doors slid open, ready to accept its newest load._

 _"Um." Percy swallowed. "Hi."_

 _"Greetings." Thor Odinson gestured to the elevator with Mjölnir. "Why don't we step outside for a moment? I believe we have much to discuss."_

. . .

It wasn't a request—it was an order.

And Percy was pretty sure that this was Thor Odinson. He'd never met him before, but he'd heard plenty of descriptions of him—the hammer and armour were dead giveaways. His forceful, faintly accented tenor voice was also rather foreign. And seeing that hammer . . . Percy resisted pulling out Riptide—Thor was a god, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was start a fight in the Avengers Tower.

"Sorry, sir, we were just leaving." Annabeth said quickly, pulling Percy with her into the elevator. "Maybe another time?" She hit the elevator button to close the doors.

Thor set his hand against one of the doors just as they started to slide shut, his eyes hard and uncompromising, and pushed them open again with complete ease. The elevator gave a small screech, as if displeased, but made no other sounds.

Percy could imagine that Tony wasn't going to be too happy when he saw the hand-shaped dent in the metal. "Uh, I'm sorry, man," He started, putting his hand in his pocket despite Annabeth's warning glare. "But maybe you should wait for the next elevator—I don't think you'll, you know, fit in here. Because you've got so much muscle," he added quickly as Annabeth closed her eyes briefly, giving a quiet groan. "And armour, and your hammer looks pretty big too." _And dangerous._

Thor's hard azure eyes bore into his own. "I believe I'll fit just fine."

And fit he did. Percy cursed Tony's giant elevators just as the doors (one of which was now slightly crumpled) closed, sealing all three of them in the metal box.

"Um, you know the doors are going to open _that_ way, right?" Percy said, pointing to the elevator doors, which were behind Thor. The god seemed to have decided that he preferred facing the demigods, and was staring down at them with a dark frown.

"I'm sorry—we really don't know who you are." Annabeth said, calm and polite.

Unfortunately, her façade wasn't very effective—Thor saw right through it. "Thor Odinson, of Asgard—but I suspect you were already aware of this."

Annabeth didn't give any ground. "No, I'm sorry."

Thor gave a bark of laughter, but he didn't look humoured. "Of course—you simply came as friends of Stark."

He said it as if he didn't believe it—as if they'd come for completely different reasons. Fortunately, he turned back around to face the elevator doors, taking away his hard blue-eyed glare.

Annabeth shared a confused look with Percy, who knew exactly what was running through her head.

 _What was that about?_

Percy shrugged. _I dunno._

He was rather preoccupied with a different problem—Thor was a god. _And very big,_ Percy thought. If Clint was a fighter, then Thor was a warrior. He was taller than Percy by at least five or six inches, and if his muscles were indicative of any strength, then there was no doubt that this man—this god—could easily be a World Championships medalist in wrestling if he wanted. And the problem? He clearly didn't like him or Annabeth. Percy wasn't sure what Thor had in mind, but if they were going to end up fighting him, he preferred for it to be outside, and not in this cramped metal box, where there was a much higher chance of one of them getting clobbered by the massive hammer that the god still held in his right hand. Percy hoped that Annabeth had brought her invisibility cap with her.

At least he didn't expose them as demigods. Hearing Poseidon's warning, that's what Percy had initially feared. But now, it seemed as if the god's visit had been unnecessary—if Percy didn't know any better, he'd think that Thor wanted to leave the Tower so that he _wouldn't_ risk exposing them.

What the god wanted though? Percy didn't know. And asking him probably wasn't a good idea, especially considering that Zeus had a beef with him.

The elevator began to count down the last few remaining levels, and Percy looked to Annabeth with a sideways glance, seeing her quietly reach into her purse, the brim of a cap sticking out.

She looked up at Percy, and shook her head when she saw his hand in his pocket.

Percy got the message. _No fighting._ He didn't like it, but he trusted Annabeth.

She held out her hand, and Percy took it before she put on the cap. Percy looked down to see that his body was now gone. He couldn't see Annabeth either, but he squeezed her hand lightly, and she squeezed his back in response.

The electronic panel at the top of the elevator read: _3 . . . 2 . . . 1._

 _Ding!_ The doors slid open.

The moment Thor stepped out, Annabeth leapt out from the side, tugging Percy along with her. Thor turned around just as they ran past him and through the lobby of the Tower, over the emblazoned marble floor and out onto the dark, cooling streets of New York, which were still bustling and crowded despite the fact that it was past midnight.

As dark masses of crowds streamed around them, Percy staggered, nearly losing his balance as a smell entered his nose. Beside him, Annabeth coughed.

"Oh gods . . ." Her voice was muffled—she was probably covering her mouth and nose with her free hand, and Percy couldn't blame her.

A very familiar sulfurous smell was wafting through the air, mingling faintly among the crowds. It wasn't enough to make anybody (mortal or otherwise) barf, but it was enough to start a small throbbing in both Annabeth and Percy's heads.

For New Yorkers, it was a manageable chaos. Under the bright lights of the city's iconic electronic billboards and stores, dead birds littered the streets and sidewalks, lay prone on patios, and sprawled out on cracked café umbrellas and glass roofs. Store owners, city officials, and police officers were out and about on this street and others, already well in the middle of a clean-up process despite the fact that it was in the middle of the night. Working beneath the glare of huge, portable spotlights provided by the NYPD, some personnel were placing cones with reflective collars by the lifeless bodies of the birds, while others were bagging and tagging them. All around them, people had their phones out, taking pictures of the working officials and the dead birds. Just another night in the city that never sleeps.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene around him, Percy looked back to see Thor already emerging from the revolving doors, heading in their direction as if they _weren't_ invisible. He didn't look happy.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Percy muttered.

"He must smell us, or something." Annabeth said, noticing Thor as well.

Percy wasn't sure how, considering the rotten stink that tainted the air. His left shoulder collided with another person's, and he nearly apologized before biting his tongue, knowing from experience that the man would never think anything of it.

No, scratch that—he was definitely thinking something of it. The man turned unnervingly towards Percy, his long black trench coat swishing just above the sidewalk, his shaded eyes covered by a cap brought low over his dark-skinned face. Clearly, he didn't realize that there was no sun out, only the faint sliver of the moon, but Percy didn't dare make a sound. For some reason, the man didn't seem quite so . . . friendly. Then, he seemed to dismiss the sudden collision of his shoulder and turned back around and headed towards the Tower, only to come nearly face to face with Thor.

The two began conversing as if they were friends, and Annabeth cursed. Percy knew what she was thinking—Thor was alerting the stranger to them.

What helped though was the crowd that was growing around them; people had begun to notice the god who towered over the rest of them and stood out like a sore with his armour and cape.

"OMG!"

"It's Thor!"

"Can I hold your hammer?"

People screamed and swooned, and soon enough, the god and his friend were forced to retreat back into the Tower.

"Come on!" Annabeth tugged on his hand, heading down the sidewalk, taking advantage of the clamouring fans. Percy fell into step with her, putting the Tower at his back. They managed to find an empty alleyway where Annabeth took off the cap, before they returned to the busy streets of New York.

"Where are we going?" Percy asked, keeping pace with Annabeth's purposeful strides.

"I doubt Thor's done with us, and we can't risk leading him back to Camp." She said quietly. "But we can get help here in the city."

Percy nodded, finally understanding.

"Athena visited me last night," Annabeth started after a few moments of silence.

Percy nodded, having already guessed as much. "Same with Poseidon."

"I can't work for Tony Stark now," Annabeth looked back over her shoulder at the Tower with a wistful gaze before looking straight ahead. "Not with Thor there and the gods telling us to stay away."

"We'll make it work," Percy said, shaking his head even as Annabeth spoke.

"How?" There was a defeated tone in her voice.

"Trust me, we will."

Annabeth lapsed into silence, before turning to a different subject. "We didn't even find out what he wanted . . . I wonder why Asgard and Olympus aren't on better terms."

Percy shrugged, momentarily distracted as they passed by the uncommon bakery still open in the middle of the night, the warm, delicious smell temporarily overriding the faint stink of rot. His stomach rumbled, and Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I don't think the gods would play well with others." Percy chose his words carefully, knowing full well that one of those same gods could be listening to their conversation at this very moment.

Annabeth nodded, knowing exactly what he was trying to say.

 ** _Zeus_** _doesn't play well with others._

"But there must be some kind of truce between us and them," Annabeth reasoned. "Otherwise, we probably would have gotten into a war years ago, and Thor and his brother would have been blasted right out of the sky the moment they entered the atmosphere."

"Maybe there was a war, and we just don't know about it." Percy said, not quite as curious.

"Maybe . . ." Annabeth frowned, clearly unhappy with the fact that she had more questions than answers. "I wonder if Thor has anything to do with all these dead birds . . ." She drifted away again as they passed by another group of people helping in the clean-up effort.

Percy shuddered to see the birds and smell the rot. He was more prepared now, so he didn't think he'd fall into another flashback, but his proximity to all of this death didn't help to improve the feeling of foreboding he'd been harbouring since he'd felt that dread that something horrible would happen to Annabeth. And it all felt too much like . . . like the end of the world.

They walked another five minutes in silence, before Percy's fidgeting hands finally got the better of Annabeth.

"Spit it out, Percy," Annabeth said, giving him a sideways glance. "Before you somehow manage to knot your fingers."

Percy rolled his eyes, but it didn't break the faint apprehension the he felt inside. "There was something different about my flashback this time."

Annabeth's brow creased with worry. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Percy rubbed the back of head, as if the action would help him make sense of everything. "It's just . . . we were back in Tartarus, facing Akhlys, and I just . . . I really thought you were going to get hurt."

"Percy, Akhlys never even managed to—"

"I know, I know." Percy said, frustrated. "I don't mean like that. It was something else . . ."

"It could just be you worrying too much," Annabeth pointed out. "Or it could be something else," she cut across Percy before he could say anything else. "There's not much to go on. Remember what you promised? No more looking into the future—just concentrate on the present." Annabeth looped her arm around his, holding his hand firmly. "No more worrying."

"No more worrying," Percy repeated. But he couldn't help but worry.

 _Be careful, Percy. Please be careful._

"Percy," Annabeth warned, nudging his side with her elbow.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he grinned at Annabeth. "I'm listening, Mom."

"Percy!"

Laughing, Percy stole a kiss before spinning away down the sidewalk, Annabeth on his heels. After 10 minutes of running and teasing along the midnight streets of New York, a dark, formidable line of trees emerged, running down the length of 5th Avenue.

Central Park.

Ever since they'd received the blessing of Pan a few years ago, alongside Tyson and Grover, Percy and Annabeth had been on rather good terms with the majority of nymphs, including wood dryads. It helped that Grover was on the Council of Cloven Elders, and was one of their best friends. So when they ran straight into the massive park, quickly leaving the main trails and becoming seemingly lost in a forest, they hoped to come across a friendly wood spirit willing to help them.

It didn't turn out quite as they expected.

It was Annabeth who first heard the crying, and after trading a quick look, the two demigods cautiously tracked the sound, with Percy pulling out Riptide to provide some additional light besides the beams of the moon. They quickly came upon a strange sight.

A young girl was kneeling on the ground by a willow tree, a large owl splayed out on the forest floor in front of her. One of its wings was bent at an awkward angle, but it didn't matter—the owl was dead. And from its body rose the familiar scent of rot that seemed to snake through the entire forest and city, forever tainting the air.

"Um, are you alright?" Annabeth asked carefully.

The girl's head snapped up towards them before she got to her feet in one fluid motion, and Percy realized that he had made a mistake. This was no mortal child.

She wore a deep-green chiton and sandals, and her skin held a tinge of faint green that gave off the faintest glow under the shadows and moonbeams. Her slim arms swayed lightly by her side, just like the long, supple branches of her willow tree. She was rather tall for one of her kind, but no less elegant and graceful despite her grieving mood.

She was a tree nymph.

Green-tinged tears rolled down her heart-shaped face, and she could barely take another step towards them before she sobbed again, covering her face with her hands and sinking back down to the ground. "She's dead! Just fell out of my branches!" She cried. "I don't know why!"

"You mean the bird?" Annabeth cautiously approached the dead bird, scrutinizing it while keeping her distance. "Looks like . . . an owl—a Great Horned owl."

Percy followed her, peering at the bird's splayed chest and feeling thankful that he didn't get the need to barf. The flesh looked almost corroded, the skin around the rotten chest cavity blackened and scabbed over. "It looks like it was eaten from the inside out."

"Percy!" Annabeth elbowed him in the side, but she was too late.

"'Eaten from the inside out!'" The nymph wailed. "Oh, how cruel the gods can be!" Percy cringed at that, hoping that Zeus wasn't listening and decided to disintegrate all of them on the spot. "Why? Why did this happen? And what about her babies?"

"Babies?"

"Babies!" The nymph sobbed still, wildly gesturing her wringing hands towards a nearby pine tree. "Three babies!"

Annabeth and Percy made their way over to the pine tree, looking up into the branches. Percy quickly noticed a large dark shape among the pine needles, and even from his position on the ground, he could hear the quiet screech of an owl. _Maybe I should go check on them . . ._

Annabeth must have had the same thought, because she was suddenly grabbing one of the lowermost branches and hoisting herself up.

Percy watched, ready to catch her if she were to fall (as highly unlikely as that was). When she finally reached the nest, Percy heard her say quietly, "Oh gods . . ."

"What? What's wrong?" Percy couldn't see much, besides what the sliver of moon could reveal with her weak beams.

"They're dead, they're all dead."

The nymph, who now stood beside Percy, still crying, gave a renewed wail, sinking back to the ground and sobbing wildly.

There was a loud screech and the branches of the tree shook as Annabeth was seemingly taken by surprise. "Except for this one. Come here, girl—come on." There was a rustle of wings, and then Annabeth was descending again, carefully lowering herself through the branches. When she finally jumped back down onto the ground, there was a large lump on her shoulder that was bigger than her head.

It was an owl. She flapped her wings as Annabeth walked towards them, as if to keep her balance, and gave another screech, nibbling at Annabeth's ear. She looked rather young, with soft downy feathers still covering some parts of her breast and wings, and the distinctive 'horns' that the owl species was known for only just beginning to develop, poking out at the top of her head. She looked straight at Percy, her golden irises seeming to glow with both intelligence and a disdain for him. Percy frowned.

"She's still a fledgling, just starting to learn how to fly." Annabeth confirmed, wincing and gently pushing the owl's beak away from her ear. She winced again as the owl's talons tightened around her shoulder. "Her siblings look like they died of the same thing that's been going on everywhere in the city."

"You have to watch her, child," the nymph swallowed, wiping her tears away. "I can't."

Annabeth looked at her uncertainly. "I can't—I don't even know how to take care of birds."

"Then why did you bring her down?"

Annabeth shrugged, her right shoulder weighed down by the bird, and looked at the owl briefly. Percy swore there was a tender look in her eyes. "Because . . . my mom would've wanted me to."

"Who is your mother?"

"Athena."

The nymph's eyes widened. "A daughter of Athena with the blessing of Pan? Then you have to!"

"I—" The owl gave a screech and looked at Annabeth with her eerie golden eyes, and Annabeth's own eyes softened. "Well . . . I'll see what I can do."

It seemed a good enough assurance for the nymph, because she turned away, back to the Great Horned owl that still lay on the forest floor.

"We came here for another reason, though." Annabeth continued.

"Oh?" The nymph sniffed, wiping away the last of her tears, and gently picked up the owl.

"Yes, someone's chasing us." Annabeth explained. "Thor, a Norse god. We were hoping you could help us, perhaps cover our scent or whatever it is that he's using to track us."

"Thor?" The nymph looked at them with confusion just as the name was echoed by fellow dryads as they began to emerge from their own trees, their usual quiet and calm demeanors replaced by agitation and fear.

"Thor?"

"The god of thunder?"

"Thunder—and lightning!"

Gasps rose up all around.

" _Lightning?_ "

"Lightning." One nymph confirmed somberly.

"But-but," the nymph of a small maple sapling looked up fearfully towards the patches of the night sky that weren't blocked out by trees, green tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. "But lightning means _fire._ " She whispered the last word, looking horrified, as if she'd just said a bad word.

"And he's searching for you—he's coming here?" A clear, ringing voice carried over the many whispers and gasps, and silence immediately fell upon them. A tall, beautiful nymph seemed to glide towards them over the dirt-and-leaf ground, taller than even her fellow willow nymph, her long golden hair a perfect reflection of the many leaves of her towering oak tree. The chiton she wore was a pure white, instead of the custom forest green, and the crowd (or forest?) of dryads parted for her out of deep respect.

Percy swallowed. Annabeth's great idea was starting to look like it was going to backfire. Next to him, still on Annabeth's shoulder, the Great Horned owl gave a screech, flaring her wings out slightly as if daring Percy. "Um, yes?"

The oaken-colored eyes of the dryad stared at them hard for a moment, before she turned to face her sister dryads. "Then we will drive him out!"

Looking upon one of the oldest among them, the fearful and agitated dryads immediately began to nod and smile. They were vicious smiles, Percy noted.

"He dare bring fire to our forest? Then let us fight!" The elder oaken dryad declared, her ringing voice piercing the air. "Call for the naiads and cloud nymphs!"

"Let's teach him whose tree is boss!"

"Fight fire with fire!" A high-pitched spruce tree nymph cried, her voice whistling with passion.

"We can't use fire . . ." One dryad said uncertainly.

"Fight fire with wood!"

"YES!"

Percy would have laughed, but the crazed look in their amber and emerald eyes made him think twice.

The god of thunder was about to get more than he bargained for.

* * *

 **So, I'm going to be incorporating elements from the Civil War movie at some point, but I don't know when, considering I don't know how many of you have watched the movie or not. Will anybody stop reading this story if I start involving** ** _Civil War_** **elements? What are your thoughts on it? Yes, no? It won't be for another few weeks, but . . . it'll be soon. And no spoilers please! As I mentioned before, I haven't watched the movie yet.**

 **Thor Odinson vs. The wild spirits of Central Park. Who do you think is going to win?**

 **Please Review!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Matt:** _So, I_ _didn't take your review as a threat in the end and decided to approve it. However, in the future, please avoid giving reviews that run along the same lines . . . thank you!_

 **MoonLightNinja:** _No, no worries! I totally would've done the same thing in your position, haha. Hopefully, this chapter sorta makes up for the break. :) And thank you! When I get the time, I'll watch it :)_

 **TKlingeW** **:** _Thank you for the info! I'll make sure to modify the past chapters, and Frey shall be used from here on out :)_

 **Wolfeschatten** : _Thank you—I actually didn't even notice it until I read your review and then I went over past chapters. I'll try to make it a little less forced—integrate it better so it's not too heavy. Good luck with your exams!_

 **Achievement:** _Haha, I know I know, I'm sorry—I just had to change it. I'm kind of fickle when it comes to these kinds of things. And ah_ _well, each person to their own music ;) Hope your exam went well!_

 **Guest (May 3)** : _Same! It's awesome to know that someone else listens to trailer music as well!_


	13. Olympians and Asgardians

**Hi! So, I'm officially, officially back! Exams are done, and as a result, I can now return to my original update schedule of 2-3 updates per week.**

 **Some music recommendations . . . Bibliophile1303 suggested Lindsey Stirling, and her video "Master of Tides" - it's absolutely fantastic, check it out! And anyone listen to Josh Groban or Stromae? They've also got some great music.**

 **Watched Civil War—absolutely amazing. Can't say anymore than that.**

 **This chapter does NOT contain _Civil War_ elements. I'll start incorporating them after June 3rd** **, because I know some of you have not yet watched the movie. I can't push it any further, because I really do need to start involving parts of _Civil War_. For now, however, anything pertaining to Civil War in my story is just my take on the conflict—nothing to do with the movie.**

 **Also, Minjad recently pointed out that Chapter 3 was a repeat of Chapter 2, and I've corrected the problem - the real Chapter 3 is back up. If you guys see anything else like that, please let me know, thanks!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Olympians and Asgardians

Thor finally shook off Fury when they returned to Stark's penthouse, the ex-director of SHIELD biding him a farewell before going to find the captain. It'd been an inconvenience for Thor to run into him outside of the Tower just as the humans went berserk seeing him—the lock he'd had on the two half-bloods was now very faint. If he wasted any more time, it would become untraceable, and then he'd never get his hands on them.

Brandishing Mjölnir, Thor leapt off the landing pad of the Tower, shooting away and letting the aura of the half-bloods guide him.

As he flew past bright skyscrapers and dark roofs, Thor scowled. What were half-bloods doing here? They must have been sent by their parents—why were the gods sticking their noses into his business? Had he not abided by the sole treaty between their two pantheons? A treaty where a single law was established during the first and last meeting between the rulers of Asgard and Olympus when they had first learned of each other's existence: absolutely no contact. It was the best decision—the differences in power, in domains . . . they were too great. Tensions had been high even in that sole meeting between Odin and Zeus.

The treaty had worked well over the past centuries, with only a few skirmishes here and there. And yet now, after so many years of peace, the gods were going to stick their noses into his business, and send their bastards to spy on his friends and gather knowledge on Asgard?

Enough was enough. Thor was not about to let it go without answers. On Midgard, he was Asgard's ambassador—every single one of his actions reflected back upon his realm and his father. If there was a threat against him or his people, he had a responsibility to handle it.

So if the Olympians were ready to break the peace that had lasted for so long? Well, then he was going to have a conversation with their spies. And—what was that Midgardian phrase? They were going to learn what happened when they messed with Asgardians.

* * *

"Be careful, Steve. I've worked with Ross before—he's not going to let this go, and you won't be able to stop him."

Steve's frown only deepened, and Natasha recognized the look on his face—he was listening to the words, but he wasn't listening to her.

"He's got the full backing of the United States government," Natasha pressed. "We may have had that when we were with SHIELD, but not anymore."

"Tell me you're not siding with Stark," Steve said.

Natasha sighed. "Look—I'm just saying, be careful."

Steve breathed out a heavy breath. "You want me to stop looking for him."

Natasha didn't reply.

"I can't do that." Steve shook off Natasha's hand and started back down the sidewalk, an electronic billboard throwing his tall shadow onto the midnight streets of New York.

Natasha sighed, then continued after him, falling into step with his long strides but not saying anything.

There was nothing to say.

* * *

"Thor should be here soon." Annabeth said, watching as the dryads made preparations. "Then maybe we can find out why he wanted to talk with us."

"We might as well have talked with him outside the Tower, then," Percy pointed out.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "And risked one of the Avengers coming across us?"

"Oh, right. True."

On Annabeth's shoulder, the Great Horned owl ruffled her wings, as if to say, _No duh!_

Percy swore the bird had it out for him. "You sure she needs to be taken care of? Because she looks like she doesn't—we could just leave her here . . ."

"Percy!"

"Okay, okay," Percy raised his hands in surrender as the owl glared at him. He glared back.

Percy wasn't in the mood to duke it out with a bird. He was tired. The past two days felt like one very long day, with the exhausting therapy sessions, the nightmares, the anxiety—not to mention that his flashbacks and asthma attacks took a lot out of him. So if this owl was looking to pick a fight, well . . . someone was going to get a shower. And it wasn't going to be him.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "We have to be careful. Not just with the Avengers, but the rest of the city. After your fall from the Tower . . ."

Percy frowned. "'Fall from the Tower'?"

. . .

Annabeth cursed. After everything that had happened, with running from Thor and coming across the dryads, she'd completely forgotten that Percy had actually been out for several hours. She recounted everything that had happened—Percy falling, the heroes catching him, using the various potions, and even her conversation with Steve.

Percy looked at a loss when she was finished. No, that wasn't right—he looked . . . ashamed.

"It wasn't too bad," Annabeth said. She'd tried not to go into too many details about Percy's relapse, but he was clearly still upset. "They were mostly suspicious of all the holes I had in my explanations, actually."

"So," Percy licked his lips. "The waters of Lethe worked."

Annabeth sighed, but quiet enough so Percy didn't hear. After Tartarus, she felt like they'd gotten a little distant on some issues. Not sharing things, keeping thoughts hidden . . . it'd gotten better, but the gap was still there. "Yes, fortunately."

"Do you think anyone got pictures of me?"

Annabeth shook her head. "I don't know—hopefully not. That would be bad, to say the least."

Percy groaned, rubbing his face and sinking down to sit on a rock. He said something, but it was muffled by his hands.

Annabeth sat down beside him, not saying anything, only leaning her shoulder against his.

All around them, the nature spirits were in a frenzy. What had started as a dark shady area of trees and shrubs was now alight with the soft green glow of dryads and the blue glimmer of naiads from nearby reservoirs. Above them, leaves and branches rustled with the movement of restless wind nymphs. It was all a little disconcerting, especially considering that the wild spirits were usually a gentle people, but it was evident that they all had a beef with Thor. Something about disturbing wind currents, no respect for forests in Europe, and contaminating water bodies with debris. And remembering their participation in the last two wars, Annabeth had to admit—they may have been peaceful spirits, but you didn't want to make them angry.

At the centre of it all was Querci, the oak dryad whom they had met 15 minutes earlier. It turned out that she bore the Latin namesake for all oak trees, and was one of the oldest spirits in Central Park, having migrated from Greece hundreds of years ago. How that had happened, Percy wasn't sure, but he heard from a passing dryad that it had involved a Greek hero who had become smitten with her, and, unwilling to part with her as he prepared for his journey to an unknown land (which would come to be known as America many centuries later), decided to bring her spirit with him in a jar. Unfortunately, he lost this jar halfway through his voyage and Querci ended up here, eventually freed from the jar and taking up residence in an uninhabited oak sapling in a newly constructed Central Park.

Talk about time jumps.

After all her difficult experiences, however, it was evident that Querci was more than battle-hardened. The dryad had forgone her chiton and sandals for armour sculpted beautifully from bark ("From her very own tree," the same passing dryad whispered to them in an appalled tone) and knee-high boots made from twines of grass and roots.

Currently, she was organizing all of the nature spirits. It was such a huge difference from the typical army of warriors that any demigod would have done a double take; the majority of dryads were still dressed in chitons while the naiads were wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, a gossip flitting between them here and there. And finally managing to settle down, the wind nymphs were hovering a few inches above the forest floor, their dresses billowing around them and their semi-transparent forms making them look like ghosts in the night.

Annabeth rubbed her hands together nervously. She could see how eager the nymphs were to take down Thor, but she didn't want this to get out of hand. The last thing they wanted was for the god to lose his temper and wipe out all of Central Park. Not that she didn't have faith in the ability of the nymphs . . . but if it came down to a brawl between the god of thunder and a group of nature spirits, Annabeth wasn't quite ready to put her bet down on the nymphs.

Standing on her shoulder, the newly adopted owl fluttered her wings.

 _Very bad idea . . ._ The owl looked at Annabeth with her golden eyes.

She didn't actually speak in Annabeth's mind—not like how horses did with Percy. But she could hear the owl's thoughts, feel her emotions and senses, and they culminated into words that Annabeth could interpret.

"Yes, I know," Annabeth sighed.

"Know what?" Percy looked at her, frowning.

"She doesn't think this is a good idea . . . She also thinks you stink of the sea." Annabeth continued, gesturing to the owl and holding back a smile. The owl dipped her head in confirmation.

Percy looked offended. "The owl? I knew she had it out for me! Wait—" He did a double take. "How do you know?"

"Because I can speak to her," Annabeth beamed. Then she laughed at the look on Percy's face. "Don't look so surprised—you can speak to horses!"

"I guess . . ." Percy scratched his head. "But you're only speaking to owls now? How come you didn't learn about this earlier?"

Annabeth shrugged, then winced and quickly apologized as the owl squawked, flapping her wings to keep her balance on Annabeth's shoulder. "I don't know—I guess I've never really been around owls before."

"What's her name?" Percy scrutinized the owl, and she glared back.

Annabeth gave an exasperated sigh. "Will you two stop that?" She turned to the owl. "What's your name?"

The owl fluttered her wings, looking at Percy distastefully. _You can't say it in your language._

"Oh, oh well." Annabeth looked back at Percy, shrugging very lightly so as not to unbalance the owl again. "She says we can't pronounce her name."

"Well then we'll give her a name." Percy said.

The owl screeched, clearly against the idea.

"Got it—we'll call you Screech," Percy grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

If owls could kill with their eyes, Percy would be a grease spot on the forest floor.

As it was, the owl—Screech—flared out her wings, ready to tear into the demigod. Annabeth stood, placing a light hand on the owl's head. "That's enough, both of you."

"I see you're getting along well," someone laughed behind them. They turned to see Willow, the dryad whom they had first come across with the Great Horned owl.

"Yes, very well," Annabeth responded dryly, shaking her head.

"Her name is actually—" the dryad made a series of screeches and clicks with her mouth, "but I think Screech suits her rather well. You were the loudest of your siblings," Willow told Screech rather sadly.

Screech ducked her head, her feathers puffed out as if she were agitated. _I miss them . . ._ She fell into a somber silence.

The din was shattered when a wind nymph dived down among the group, so excited that, for a moment, she was speaking in her native whistles and blows. Then she managed to slip into English, shouting, "He's coming! He's coming!"

Immediately, the nymphs scattered. The dryads faded into their trees while the naiads evaporated and the wind nymphs disappeared from view. An eerie silence fell upon the suddenly very dark area of forest, and only the two demgiods, Screech, and Querci remained.

Percy shifted, the sudden transition to darkness and silence putting him on edge as they waited for the god to arrive. Screech ruffled her feathers and with some coaxing, was finally persuaded to hide among the trees. Annabeth played with the frayed edge of her Yankees cap, wishing that she wasn't wearing a skirt. Querci stood as still as, well, a tree.

They didn't have to wait long. A few seconds later, a dark shape dropped from the sky, tearing through the overhead branches (Percy was pretty sure the dryads were going to make him pay for that later) and striking the ground with a resounding boom that sent up a small concussion wave of leaves and dirt. The dark shape rose to a formidable height, and beneath the weak beams of the moon, the group saw the glare of silver armour and a bright red cape.

Querci didn't move from her place a few feet away from the god. "Thor Odinson, you are not welcome here. Leave, or face the wrath of my brethren."

Annabeth winced. This was exactly what she had been afraid of—clearly, Querci had a very different agenda, and was entirely occupied with seeing Thor as the enemy. If the dryad forced the god to leave, she and Percy would never find out why Thor wanted to speak with them in the first place.

Thor frowned. "Step aside, elfin sprite. I will speak with the half-bloods, and don't wish to harm you."

. . .

Querci took a step towards the god, and Percy was shown once again how different the oaken dyrad was from her sister nymphs. She really had no fear. "The demigods are under my protection, godling. I give you a final warning: leave, now."

Godling? Percy wondered if Querci was older than Thor.

"Wait," Annabeth stepped up to Querci. "We're willing to talk, under the terms of a ceasefire."

"Speak, with this beast?" Querci turned on Annabeth, furious. "This child, whose tantrums have killed dozens of my sisters? There is no speaking with him. I offer him only this courtesy of a warning, and he will not listen."

Thor hefted his hammer, scowling. "Watch your words, sprite, else you will live to regret them."

Querci turned back to Thor, and bared her teeth. "No— **you** will." She raised her head, and gave an ear-shattering whistle.

With a roar, the forest came alive. The wind nymphs descended upon the god in a howl of fury, catching him by surprise and flattening him to the ground. Trees groaned and cracked as their branches suddenly whipped this way and that, grabbing ahold of Thor, lashing at this armour.

"This is for my branches!" One dryad cried, and suddenly roots were erupting from the ground, wrapping around the god's legs.

Thor growled, ripping away the roots and branches as if they were paper and blasting back the wind nymphs with ease. A rock flew up from the ground, intent on giving the god a black eye, but he caught it, pulverizing it in his hand. "Don't test my patience, sprites."

* * *

Peter's spidey senses were tingling. He could feel the power—it vibrated ever so slightly against his fingertips and sent shivers down his spine. And it was all coming in . . . that direction. Central Park.

Well, he didn't have too much homework tonight.

He flipped out of his apartment window, swinging from building to building. Man, he loved New York—such convenient skyscrapers.

* * *

It was evident that Thor wasn't even showing a fraction of his power, and that's what worried Percy. He stepped forward, in the middle of trying to devise a way of stopping the fight, but then had to quickly duck as a branch flew past him, nearly knocking his head clean off his shoulders.

Thor slammed his hammer into the forest floor, sending ripples through the ground and nearly dislodging many trees. Dryads cried out in anger. "That is enou—"

The last part was cut off as a huge oak bough hurtled out of nowhere and struck Thor in the torso, sending him flying.

The god rose to his feet, his face contorted in rage. "ENOUGH!" He bellowed. He raised his hammer, and the night sky crackled and thundered.

"No!"

Percy lunged forward, imagining just how devastating the god's blow would be to all the wild spirits, and felt power surge through him, washing away all his exhaustion. In a combined effort with the naiads, who had taken a spot on the sidelines despite all their earlier eagerness to battle, a monstrous wave surged through the forest from a nearby reservoir and crashed over Thor, sending the god stumbling back, his hammer flying from his hand. Above them, the brewing storm cleared for the moment.

Percy uncapped Riptide, ready to engage in a fight if need be.

Thor spat out water. "Cursed half-bloods!" He growled. He threw out his hand, as if to summon his hammer, but nothing happened. Thor's rage turned to confusion, and he turned around, towards where his weapon had fallen.

Annabeth Chase's sneakered foot rested on the war hammer, and the demigod gave Thor a fierce look with her stormy eyes. "You want your hammer?" She raised her hands to show that they were empty. "Let's talk."

. . .

Annabeth had a plan, sort of. Bargain with the god—his beloved hammer for a small, civil conversation. Unfortunately, Thor didn't seem capable of speech at the moment. Instead, he stood there, amidst many nymphs who had fallen still to watch the confrontation, and looked at his hammer with thinly veiled shock.

Thor threw out his hand again, and his hammer suddenly shot out from under her foot and into the grasp of the god, a strange, metallic ring accompanying its movement.

Well, there went her only leverage.

She was wracking her brain, trying to think of another way to bring about a ceasefire (steal his cape? He seems rather fond of it . . .), when the god surprised her.

"Yes, let's talk."

* * *

Percy, Annabeth, and Thor moved to a quieter area of Central Park, where there still weren't any cameras, but also where there weren't any homicidal nymphs who would attack Thor on sight.

Querci hadn't been happy with the ceasefire. In fact, she'd been furious.

"You're making a grave mistake," the dryad had warned the two demigods. "That godling causes nothing but destruction. If you dare to make peace with him, your blessing from Lord Pan will mean nothing to us. Do not expect any help from my sisters in the future, nor I." She paused, her amber eyes glowering at them. "Remember that, son of Poseidon, daughter of Athena. No help whatsoever."

And with that, the dryad had whirled around and stalked away, her brethren falling in step with her while giving Thor and the demigods dark glares. One wind nymph even made the protection sign, the one that warded away evil. She clawed three fingers over her chest, and then thrust her hand out at Thor, actually causing him to stumble. Then she flew away, violent gusts of wind throwing about leaves and twigs. The majority of naiads gave Percy apologetic looks before evaporating, however.

Nevertheless, Percy was pretty sure Grover would be contacting him pretty soon.

And now, standing in a tiny clearing, Percy, Annabeth, and Thor were attempting to settle their differences.

"Your sprites are rather irate with me," Thor began, looking down upon them as the three stood in a tiny clearing. "I never knew I killed any of them—I was not even aware that they could die. They are sprites of nature, are they not?"

"They can still die!" Annabeth snapped, disgusted with the god. With the battle having ended, she had become increasingly frustrated with Thor, and Percy was pretty sure he knew why.

The fact that this god had killed nymphs, and so many of them . . . Percy never knew. He'd thought that the god had simply been a nuisance for the wild spirits. Having learned otherwise, he and Annabeth would need to apologize to the nymphs later, when they had calmed down and their blood-lust had faded, for not having understood their struggles. What they would do about dealing justice however, Percy wasn't sure.

"Hm," Thor grunted. He looked troubled, and Percy had a feeling it wasn't because he'd killed so many wild spirits in his ignorance. That made Percy angry.

"That's all you've got to say?" Percy bit out. "After—"

"Quiet!" Thor barked.

The order was like a slap to Percy's face. He hated it when people pushed him around, and he hated it even more when those people were gods. He'd had enough of Thor and his demands. Percy uncapped Riptide, and the three feet of glowing celestial bronze sprung out.

It was rather bad timing that it was then, at that very moment, that he remembered his promise to his mom.

No more getting into trouble.

Wasn't that why he and Annabeth had decided to go to New Rome for college, why he'd finally given in to Will's offers of therapy? Because he wanted a fresh start? Because he didn't want to see that distraught look on his mom's face when he came home after yet another quest?

When he'd opened the door to their apartment, returning from his more than 6 month absence, she'd been . . . Percy didn't know how to describe it. Unbelievably happy, tears streaming down her face as she'd crushed him in a hug . . . and unbelievably angry and disappointed with the gods. And Percy knew that she was angry with him as well. Leaving only a voice message on the phone before going off to save the world again—he'd chosen the demigod world over his mother, as he had for the last several years. She didn't shout at him, or reprimand him—it was in her silence that he could feel her hurt. Percy never wanted to hurt her like that again.

And so he lowered Riptide. "Look, man. Say what you came here to say. And even better, tell us what grudge you've got against us."

Thor laughed, surprising them. "I would have a grudge against you? You seem to have forgotten that it is the other way around—your gods have never stopped resenting us! Why did they send you here? To find out the state of Asgard from the Avengers? I can assure you now that none of them have ever visited my realm, and that we Asgardians have not grown weak and idle like your gods—we are as powerful as ever." He seemed to stand taller, as if ready to fight to prove his worth.

For Percy and Annabeth, however, his words didn't make much sense.

"Send us? The gods didn't send us here—we came on our own!" Percy said furiously. "We were invited by Tony and Clint!"

"You think we're _spies?_ " Annabeth asked, skeptically.

Thor glowered down at them. "All you half-bloods," the god spat the word as if they were filthy, "are servants to the gods—bastards of infidelity and lies."

Percy tightened his hold on Riptide, his body shaking with suppressed anger. " _Excuse me?_ "

Now, Percy had been called a lot of things in his life so far. Dear, sweetheart—those were his mom's endearments for him. "Brain boy", said in the most mocking of manners, was Smelly Gabe's. _Graecus_ , when he was still a stranger among the Romans. "Boy" was an all-time favorite of all immortals, be it gods, titans, giants—you name it. And there were a couple of other ones. But " _bastard_ "? Accusing of his mom of _infidelity_? That was new.

"Percy." Annabeth warned, laying a hand on his shoulder, as if she knew what he was about to do. She probably did. And she was probably trying to stop herself from doing the same thing, judging by her gritted teeth.

And Thor was still talking. "Sent on quests by the gods, sacrificing food and drink in their name despite all that they have done to you—they don't deserve to be immortals. Even I would make a better god!" He scoffed.

Percy faltered for a moment, Thor's words taking him by surprise.

Annabeth beat him to the question. "You're not a god?"

Thor frowned at her. "No—an easy blunder to make, however. That is why you and your gods hate and envy us—do not deny it! Asgard is the protector of the Nine Realms, but we are not gods. We do not possess as much . . . power," Thor scowled, clearly not liking to admit this, "as your rulers, but we are equal in authority. It is our responsibility to watch over the realms and ensure peace, though we do not abuse our powers and take advantage of our people as your gods do. The fact that we are not immortals, and yet have such a responsibility and such a great domain as the Nine Realms—the fact that a part of our domain includes your very own realm—it rankles your pride, does it not?" Thor laughed. "As it always will."

Percy shook his head. "Look, you have a problem with the gods, talk to them—but don't include us, as well. We're not their servants, spies, or _bastards_ , and we're definitely not envious of you. We were at the Tower because we were invited by Clint, and that's it. I swear it on the Styx." Thunder rumbled across the sky, and Thor's face darkened. "And if you don't know what that means—considering you've clearly got a lot of bad information on us—it's the strongest oath we can make."

Thor looked hard at him, and finally said, "So you did not intentionally break the term of the treaty."

"We don't know anything about a treaty," Annabeth said.

"It is an agreement, between Asgard and Olympus," Thor explained, and went on to describe the treaty and its single term.

Percy traded looks with Annabeth. It sounded similar to the relationship that had existed between Greeks and Romans before they'd become allies, except for the fact that it was the gods who had ensured that they would never cross.

"And what about that man you spoke to, outside of the Tower? What did you tell him about us?" Annabeth asked.

Thor scowled. "Him? Nothing—I told him nothing. He was an acquaintance, that is all. You think I would reveal your world to a mortal?" Thor shook his head. "You and your secretive natures—that will be your downfall. Why do you strive so hard to keep yourself hidden from the world? You are protectors of Midgard, are you not? How can you possibly share a relationship with your people if you keep your existence a secret? Throughout the Nine Realms, Asgard is the ruling realm, and Odin is accepted as King because of the good relations that we have established with each of the realms."

Annabeth shook her head. "It's not the same here, on Earth. Humans have a different view on people who are . . . different. You should know, considering how the world has been reacting to you and the Avengers."

Thor laughed. "Humans and their politics—they are of no importance to me. I fight with the Avengers because they are my friends, and because it is my duty to ensure peace in all of the realms, including Midgard."

"Maybe we can be friends, as well," Annabeth said. "You said that the treaty between Olympus and Asgard was made to prevent conflict. Maybe that time is over—I think friendship would guarantee peace better than long-distance animosity, don't you?" She held out her hand. "Friends?"

. . .

Thor looked at the girl again, perceiving the intelligence that lurked in her piercing grey eyes. He had heard many rumours about the gods of Midgard and their children, but these two half-bloods—these demigods—they seemed rather Hel-bent on defying them. Could he befriend a people that he had despised his entire life?

He remembered his thoughts only an hour before: he was Asgard's ambassador on Midgard. And hadn't he been telling these demigods over and over again that Asgard's job was to ensure peace?

And this girl . . . she had _stopped_ Mjölnir's movements, if only for a few seconds. Was she worthy? And if so, did that not mean that he could trust them, befriend them? He wanted to give her the hammer, if only to see if she could hold it, but resisted the urge to do so—he was far from ready to hand over such power to this stranger. These nameless strangers . . .

"I don't think I know your names." He said.

"Percy Jackson." The boy responded, his green eyes almost seeming to glow. They eerily reminded him of Loki. Oh, how he missed him . . .

"Annabeth Chase." The girl supplied.

Thor took Annabeth's hand, shaking it firmly. "Friends."

* * *

Zeus leaned back in his throne, gripping his master bolt tightly. Friends, with those barbarians? "Unlikely," the king of the gods muttered.

* * *

As they walked out of Central Park, Percy and Annabeth learned that there was a _lot_ about the Greek/Roman world that Thor thought he knew about, when in fact they were all lies and rumours.

"The gods don't steal humans away and eat them," Annabeth said patiently, no longer appalled by all the things that Thor believed. "Some . . . used to, but not anymore. And they didn't abduct our parents either—they . . . chose them." The words left a bitter taste in Annabeth's mouth. She wasn't a fan of the gods, but she was loyal to them, to a certain degree. After hearing everything that Thor had said about them however, and now listening to all this Asgardian heresay about the gods, she couldn't help but think that they hadn't been too far from the truth.

"But you still carry out sacrifices for them, yes?" Thor asked. It was as if he was hoping that at least some of what he knew since he was a child was still true. "Food, animals, humans?"

"Food, yes, as offerings. But not animals, and definitely not humans," Annabeth wrinkled her nose.

"There was a guy who sacrificed teddy bears, though," Percy said as they turned left on a trail that would shortly take them out of the park.

"So you do sacrifice animals!" Thor exclaimed.

A late night jogger gave them a wide berth as he passed them.

On Annabeth's shoulder, Screech gave a screech, clearly annoyed with Thor. She hopped onto a low-hanging branch, cuffing the Asgardian in the head with her wing. Thor frowned.

"No," Percy rolled his eyes. "A teddy bear is a stuffed animal."

"Why ever would you stuff an animal before sacrificing it?" Thor asked, confused.

"Oh gods . . ." Annabeth muttered. "A stuffed animal is _fake_ —we make them for kids."

"Ah," Thor nodded, finally understanding. "Much like a doll for children to play with, yes?"

"Yes."

They finally exited Central Park, ending up on Fifth Avenue.

"Well, I believe this is where we part, my friends. Unless you are returning to the Tower . . . ?"

"No, we'd better get back to, ah, home." Percy stumbled over his words, nearly saying "Camp". He and Annabeth had avoided talk of Camp—they didn't quite trust Thor yet, and they could tell that Thor didn't quite trust them, either. Better that they kept some secrets, just in case.

"Farewell, then," Thor shook both their hands again, and with a brandish of his hammer, shot up into the sky, in the direction of the Tower.

Annabeth pushed her hair out of her face, which had been blown around by the force of Thor's take-off, and sighed. This had been a long day.

Without another word, they went to the side of the road, ready to hail a taxi.

"Hey, Percy!"

. . .

Percy and Annabeth turned to see Steve and Natasha walking side-by-side towards them. They looked like they had been taking a midnight stroll. Percy wondered if the two were together.

Annabeth smiled. "Hi, Steve. Natasha."

"Uh, hi," Percy said, unsure how else to reply.

"What are you doing here? How are you feeling?" Steve asked him, coming to a stop.

Percy rubbed his neck, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed as he remembered that the last time Steve and Natasha had seen him, he was unconscious—passed out from a flashback and asthma attack. Oh gods . . . they probably thought he was half-insane or something. "I'm good, thanks. We were just taking a walk—breath of fresh air."

Steve seemed to sense something in his tone, because he said, "Well, I'm always open, if you ever need to talk. Jogging always helps the mind, too," He said helpfully.

Natasha gave one of her hoarse laughs. "If you're going to run with Rogers, be prepared to lose a lung."

"I had asthma as a kid," Steve said, surprising Percy and making him do a double take. This man, who looked like not only a soldier, but a line-backer? "It was before I took the serum," Steve said, seeing his disbelieving look. "Your asthma seems to be a little different from the usual, but I know that it can't be fun—breathing exercises always helped, no matter how stupid they seemed. Maybe they'll do you some good, as well."

Percy blinked, looking at the man. It was as if he was accepting him—trying to help him. "Um, thanks. I'll look into the breathing exercises."

"We'd better get back home, though." Annabeth said. "It's rather late."

"You need a ride?" Steve asked.

Percy nearly laughed. It seemed that this guy just couldn't help but look out for people. It would probably get annoying later, but at the moment, Percy found that he didn't quite mind it. Steve Rogers was a good guy, Percy concluded. "No, thanks. We're going to get a taxi."

Natasha gave them a half-smile. "Well, maybe we'll see you on Thursday at your next lesson with Stark."

Annabeth laughed. "That would be interesting. Maybe I'll stop by."

"Well, then, see you two later," Steve raised a hand in good-bye and then the two of them crossed the road, heading back towards the Tower.

Percy and Annabeth finally hailed a taxi, eventually coaxed the driver to letting them bring Screech along for the ride, and returned to Long Island Sound.

* * *

When Steve and Natasha returned to the Tower, they found the team gathered in a lounge room. And Thor was standing among them.

"Captain." Thor greeted him, clasping his hand and arm.

"Thor, good to see you back." Steve said.

"Here to visit, or did Jane kick you out again?" Natasha teased.

Thor frowned, understanding the metaphor and resisting the urge to roll his eyes (it had become bad habit for him. He once did it in front of Odin . . . it had taken many minutes of explanation to get himself out of that hole). "Jane and I are happy. I only just arrived an hour before."

"Wait—are you responsible for all the dead birds?" Clint asked.

Now Thor gave a dark frown. "No. But it is ill foreboding . . . it bears a likeness to Ragnarök."

"Ragnarök?" Wanda repeated from her place on the couch. "What is that?"

"Apocalypse. End of the world." Tony said, jumping into the conversation. "Right? Like judgement day, but for you Asgardians."

"Not exactly." Thor said. "I have heard of your apocalypse, and while it shares some similarities with Ragnarök, it is not the same. The apocalypse is, as you said, the 'end of the world'. But while Ragnarök is an event of destruction, it is also an event of renewal. And it is inevitable. The Norns, our entities of destiny and fate, have prophesized it since the very beginning. When the time comes, three years will come to pass with early winters and dying crops. The third year will enter an eternal winter filled with famine and disease across all realms. During this final winter, ancient evils will rise and the dead will walk the earth once again. A great battle will take place, and all of the Nine Realms will fall in flames. Billions will perish. But from the ashes, life will start anew."

Silence.

Clint shifted in his seat. "You're saying that everyone's going to die, by the end of this winter?"

"No, no," Thor laughed, breaking the heavy silence. "I was simply saying that the ill fate of the birds reminded me of Ragnarök. But rest assured, my friend—this is no Ragnarök. Strange, surely, and foreboding, but nothing more. Ragnarök is triggered by a certain event."

"And that is?" Fury asked.

"The death of my father, Odin." Thor paused. "But don't worry—he is not yet dead, and will not be for another thousand years, at least."

* * *

 **Like I said: Thanos is just the tip of the iceberg ;) Thoughts? Questions?**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Reviews:**

 **Guest (May 15th):** _Thank you! Your review absolutely made my day!_

 **Achievement** : _Aww, hope today was a better day, then. Your guess was actually spot on! And in regards to Civil War, hopefully you saw my A/N on the top - I tried to push it back as far as possible, but if I push it any further, it's going to start digging into the plot. Hopefully your schedule works out, but if it doesn't, I hope you'll continue to read this story after you've watched the movie. Also, good luck on your exams!_

 **MoonLightNinja:** _Haha, yeah, I laughed while I was typing it up :D Leo will definitely be there - I'll write him into the next chapter :)_

 **JPC** : _Thanks so much! And no problem!_

 **Russel Lawrence:** _Yes, unfortunately it's going to be like this until I can incorporate Civil War elements . . . I've also got a lot of flaws as a writer when it comes to not making a plot drag. I tried to work on that in this chapter._

 **Lisaloves:** _That's great to know! Haha, yes very true - but it'll all work out in the end, sort of :)_

 **Erucchii** : _Absolutely love your reviews - you always cover everything, so I can get your take on all the events that have occurred in the chapter, and not just a single one. And thank you!_

 **a person** **d** : _Haha, yeah . . . hopefully you like the chapter!_

 **Dar Losh** : _Whenever I read such awesome words with many exclamation marks, it makes me so happy. Thank you!_


	14. New Players

**Hi!**

 **Sorry for the long wait - I know I promised 2-3 updates per week, so I'm releasing this chapter even though it's significantly shorter than my usual ones. To be very honest with you, I've been lazing around instead of writing, which is so not . . . me. I've found that I write best when I procrastinate, and since I'm done with school, I've lost my motivation to do anything, really. Such irony. I sincerely apologize to those whom I promised that demigods from Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood would be featured in this chapter - they'll be in the next chapter.**

 **This chapter does NOT contain Civil War spoilers - just making that clear.**

 **Also, if you're not familiar with the Guardians of the Galaxy . . . well, try to read up on it? Or if you've forgotten key characters, like Taneleer or Yondu or Peter Quill, message me for info or please research them. It'll be very helpful for you to be familiar with the characters. I provide the backstory for all of them, but watching the movie is helpful as well**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **New Players**

"One Terran creature, comin' right up!" Yondu announced in his rough voice.

Another four individuals—part of Yondu's crew of criminals, called Ravagers—dragged a large, tarp-covered container into the museum, grunting from the effort.

"This one ain't happy bein' caught—I'd watch my fingers if I were you," Yondu gave a bark of laughter, clearly amused by the idea of a fingerless hand.

"Yes, yes, of course," Taneleer Tivan responded absentmindedly, beginning to circle the container. "I'd like to see it."

Yondu motioned to one of his men, who cautiously approached the container, evidently nervous. With a quick movement, he pulled off the tarp before immediately stepping back, his hand going to the blaster at his hip.

Inside the Xandarian-crafted (and stolen) glass container, the Terran creature stood. It was nothing like the common animal or Terran that roamed Terra (otherwise known as Earth, a planet in the Milky Way galaxy system). Yes, it _looked_ like a male Terran, with its humanoid form and traditional military attire, but its grey, transparent skin and yellow eyes spoke of something older. The skeleton warrior regarded its surroundings with cold, intelligent eyes and Taneleer watched with interest as its bones shimmered beneath its dull flesh.

"You asked for a scout, you got one," Yondu said, patting the container and grinning at the skeleton. "Ain't gonna find anythin' more reliable, ruthless, or relentless. The three Rs, boys!" He crowed, mocking one of the beloved mottos of the Terrans. His crew laughed, repeating his phrases. "These things'll kill anybody, and they nigh impossible to kill themselves. Trust me—we tried," Yondu said, giving another laugh.

They had indeed. The Ravagers had come across the creature on Terra while carrying out a raid for a different client. On Yondu's orders to capture the animated skeleton, they'd quickly learned how deceiving its ragged military clothing and dead appearance was. It moved like a serpent, downing three Ravagers with a gun and another two with a spear before they even realized what was happening. After that, they were too occupied with trying to kill it or run from it (the cowards were later punished by Yondu) rather than attempt to capture it. Unfortunately, it seemed that the creature was impossible to kill. It stubbornly refused to catch fire, and any attempts at dismemberment were repeatedly thwarted by the skeleton reassembling itself, to the shock and unease of many. It was only after they dropped a Xandarian cage from their ship and onto the skeleton that the majority of Ravagers reluctantly agreed to transport the creature to Tivan. And even then . . . well, none of them had been able to sleep—not with those glowing yellow eyes watching them. Many of them were still nursing wounds from actual lead bullets—the damned creature used archaic weapons still favored by the Terrans.

"A scout searches—this skeleton does not seem of the 'searching type'," Tivan turned back towards the captain of the Ravagers, a curiously polite expression on his face.

No one was fooled. Leader of the Tivan Group, an infamous network in the criminal underworld of the galaxy, Taneleer Tivan was not someone you 'messed with'. Not only did he command the Tivan Group, and not only was he The Collector—the curator of a museum that housed the largest collection of fauna, species, and relics in the entire galaxy—but he was also an Elder of the Universe, belonging to a group of ancient beings who represented the last remnants of extinct races across the universe. He was older than nearly all of the galaxies that existed. His strange features, namely his white hair, and his odd choice of fur-lined clothing were eccentric in the eyes of many, but for those who recognized Taneleer for who he truly was, his appearance spoke of ancient customs that had been long, long forgotten.

When Taneleer, along with other Elders of the Universe, discovered that his immortality was wholly tied to his desire to live, he developed an obsession with collecting objects and specimens, and eventually became the Collector. Each item he lovingly garnered further ensured his everlasting immortality. Now living in Knowhere, a mining colony established by the Tivan Group in the severed head of an unknown celestial being, his well-known reputation drew the attraction of thousands who hoped to catch a sight of his collection, or even contribute to it—in return for payment in the form of units (the universal currency), of course.

In the face of all this, Yondu Udonta shrugged. The blue-skinned captain of the Ravagers was unfazed by The Collector, having had dealings with him in the past, and having faced far more immediate threats. A true man of the Centaurian race, Yondu's long command of the Ravagers could be attributed to his ruthless and unpredictable nature. "Thing could find whatever you want, I'm sure. Ain't no way we takin' it back to Terra—wasted too many men and resources for it." Yondu gave Taneleer a hard look. "In fact, the collateral damage should raise the price to 2 million units."

"Fine," Taneleer said absentmindedly, turning back to the skeleton. Absolutely intrigued by the creature, he knew it would make a beautiful addition to his collection, even if it could not serve his needs.

He paid the Ravagers their 2 million units and then they left, their words dissipating into the background. "Heard Quill was somewhere in . . ."

Taneleer swept to the back of his collection, where his most prized relics and specimens lay. Two years ago, he would have sent a servant to retrieve whatever he wished, but after his last servant . . . what was her name? They were all so similar . . . attempted to take control of the Power Stone in a moment of insatiable greed and destroyed nearly his entire collection, he had decided not to invest in servants. Better he do it himself, even if it was absolutely revolting, laborious work. He finally found what he was looking for—a relatively small glass container (also Xandarian-crafted and stolen) and returned to the skeleton warrior.

"Now . . ." Taneleer placed a device on one of the walls of the skeleton's container and activated the device, disintegrating the glass into blue sand that spilled across his immaculate floor. Oh dear . . . he would have to clean that up later. The disgust he felt towards the arduous task was almost enough to make him go and hire a servant on the very spot.

The skeleton stepped out.

"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful . . ." Taneleer breathed, his hands shaking ever so slightly in his excitement. "Now, now . . ." He handed the skeleton the small glass container, careful to not make contact with the creature. "Can you feel the power?" He asked delicately. "I want you to find something similar. It is on Xandar."

Having registered the scent and power of the relic, the creature released the small container and Taneleer lunged forward, catching it just before it struck the ground. Gasping, he straightened, hugging the container to his chest and glaring at the skeleton. "Whyever must you do that? You could have killed me!" Taneleer knew that the reinforced glass would have withstood the impact, but still—dropping the container that held the Aether was not something he wished to re-enact.

The skeleton remained still and silent and Taneleer sniffed. "Go," he said irritably. "Find the Power Stone, and bring it to me. Take one of the docked ships."

The skeleton warrior turned around and marched out of his museum. Taneleer sent a message out to two mercenaries often hired out by the Tivan Group, ordering them to accompany the skeleton and help it where required. It would be a galactic nightmare if the mission failed because the creature didn't know how to pilot a ship. A minute later, he was informed that one of the ships had disengaged from the dock. Taneleer smiled.

 _Soon_. _Soon they will all be mine._

* * *

"What?" Peter said to himself, looking back in the direction of Central Park from the roof of his apartment building. " _What?_ "

Now, Peter had read and watched the Lord of the Rings—all 1137 pages and 682 minutes. So he had a pretty good idea as to how talking trees acted and moved. They were slow and wise, and wouldn't be admitted to any beauty pageant unless people were voting for the best great-great grandad look.

And they most definitely did _not_ look like cute teenage girls who walked in and out of trees, wore dresses, and talked to other similar teenage girls who evaporated into thin air or flew around looking like Bloody Marys.

And yet, that wasn't even the strangest thing he saw. Nor was it the battle that occurred between these odd teenage girls and _Thor_ , the alien from an entirely different world. No, the strangest thing was that, in the middle of it all, there was a boy. The same kid who had taken a plunge from the Avengers Tower, and who Peter had been about to save when the Scarlet Witch and Iron Man came to the rescue.

And if Peter's vision wasn't mistaken—and it never was, not after he was bitten—then this kid had some kind of control over water. Because there was no other way that half of the nearby reservoir could have grown into a giant 20 foot wave that completely wiped out Thor, just as the kid raised his arms and shouted.

Well, alternative explanations were possible, of course. But Peter was prepared to accept what others might consider unacceptable.

But he needed answers—concrete answers. He returned to his room, made sure his door was locked, cast one last regretful look at his homework, and then swung back out. The Avengers Tower rose up in the distance.

* * *

"You will have your war, Asgardian . . ." Sweat trickled down his brow.

"If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you . . ." His breaths came in gasps. He felt something. He felt fear.

"You think you know pain?" The Other's mangled face suddenly leaned down into his, his sharp and rotten teeth bared. "He will make you long for something as sweet as pain!"

Loki shouted, his eyes snapping open to reveal riotous fear, his back arching as something ripped through his muscles and flesh, snapping bones.

"STOP! No more! I can't no longer, I. . ." Loki's babbling finally faded into silence as he realized he was in his bedroom—the king's bedroom—and he was safe. He wasn't in danger, he wasn't being . . . tortured. The Other wasn't here—damn Hel, he was dead. Loki knew the alien was dead, killed by someone else.

Loki staggered out of his bed, dragging sweat-soaked covers with him and barely noticing the pillows strewn across the room. He had sensed the powerful presence, just on the fringes of his nightmare.

The Mad Titan was on the move.

He was going to retrieve the rest of the Stones, and perhaps make good on his threat to Loki. How long it would be before he came to Asgard, Loki didn't know. The titan was too unpredictable, too vast to confine to a simple timeline.

They didn't stand a chance. Nobody in the universe stood a chance against the Mad Titan. Unless . . . unless the Stones were kept out of the titan's reach. And yet, with Ragnarök fast approaching, the universe was about to lose valuable resources—an entire nine realms of individuals who might slow him down, if they worked together. An entire nine realms of knowledge that might contain the single thought or fact that could prove to be his downfall.

And Asgard . . . Asgard would fall. The Nine Realms would be consumed by flames by the end of Ragnarök. All because he had lost control for a single moment. All because, for one tiny moment, Loki completely and absolutely loved and hated the man before him, and let the two warring emotions rip himself—and Odin—apart.

The moment he had killed Odin, Loki knew that he had let down Thor. And he felt something else, as well: he had let down himself.

But no more. As much as he loved and hated his brother, and hated the Nine Realms, he knew one single fact: Ragnarök had to be stopped. If not to save the wealth of knowledge that might stop the Mad Titan, then at least to prove to himself and Thor that he was not the terrible man that he had so far shown himself to be.

Yes, he hated Midgard. Yes, he may have wanted to exert some power over those brain-rotten, foolish humans, if only to gain his brother's and father's attention. But he had had no plans for mass destruction or utter annihilation of the human race. The Mad Titan had taken advantage of his damaged heart and vulnerable mind, had whispered in his ear and promised to fill the yawning chasm in his chest with power and an everlasting rule. But not anymore—Loki's eyes were clear now, his ears attentive.

Ragnarok had to stopped, for one reason or another. And Loki believed that if there existed even one possible method to stopping the inevitable event that he had set into motion—an event that had been prophesized by the Norns since the birth of the Nine Realms—it would involve the Infinity Stones.

And one of them sat in Asgard's weapons vault at this very moment.

Loki untangled himself from the covers, put on his armor and a long cloak, and swept out of his room, following the call of the Tesseract.

* * *

 **Again, sorry for the short chapter. Thought, questions?**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Aqila:** _Hopefully you got my PM?_

 **DarkHawk207:** _I don't know if he killed him in the actual Marvel universe, but in this story, he did kill him. I think it was Chapter 4 or 5 . . . ?_

 **Ryuko monogatari:** _Wow. Have you considered writing a PJO/Avengers crossover? You totally should. The battle is going to be a little different, unfortunately—but I highly recommend that you write this plot, because it sounds awesome._

 **Dar Losh:** _Wow, thank you so much! Hope you like the Loki POV!_

 **Unicorn:** _Thanks! I think I'm going to keep Clarisse the same or relatively the same—she's just that static character, the one that never changes. But her relationship with other people can change, and we see that with her and Percy._

 **AACM25:** _Hopefully you got my PM?_

 **Achievement:** _Don't worry—I'm obsessed with research :)_

 **TheAdaptableWriter:** _Thanks! I'm still deciding whether or not to include Barry—I'll let you know what I decide as soon as a decision has been reached._

 **Guest (May 22nd):** _Thanks! They won't be introduced right away . . . it'll probably be several chapters before they come in to the picture._

 **MoonLightNinja:** _Haha, yeah he did. Spiderman will play an important role—he's not just a cameo, don't worry :) So sorry about not including Leo—he'll be in the next chapter._

 **Vivliofagos:** _You would think the nymphs would hate the gods, right? But they share a different relationship with them—hopefully more insights will be given as the story progresses._


	15. Chapter 15

**Again sorry for the long delay. Br0kenThOrn dared me to write 8 chapters by Canada Day, July 1** **st** **—** **I'm Canadian by the way—so I shall meet this challenge with fervour, though I have no idea if I'll be successful in completing it.**

 **Thanks to the advice of TKlingeW, Freyr will now be referred to as Frey.**

 **The next chapter will come after June 4** **th** **, and as a result, I will begin incorporating elements from** ** _Civil War._** **There won't be any major spoilers, just small things and tidbits for now. I apologize to those who have yet to watch the movie.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

By the time Percy and Annabeth had returned to camp, it was past 2 in the morning, and they were exhausted. So when a certain demigod ambushed them just as they wished each other "goodnight", about to go to their respective cabins, Percy couldn't do much more than stagger back and manage a slurred, "Gah?"

"Dude! Dudette! You've been keeping secrets from me!" Leo all but shouted. The son of Hephaestus smelled like motor oil, and Percy could only just see his grease-splattered work shirt and jeans in the dark.

Annabeth frowned, rubbing her eyes. "Leo, what are you doing still up? It's . . ."

"2:13," Percy supplied, squinting at his watch.

"You expect me to be able to sleep when you went to meet _Tony Stark_ and _didn't tell me_?" Leo shook his head. "Bro, I thought we were frie—!"

Percy clapped a hand over Leo's mouth before he woke up the entire camp.

 _Bang!_

The sudden flash of light and sound disorientated Percy to the point where he couldn't even tell which way was up. By the time his vision and hearing had partially returned, Screech was screeching loudly and Annabeth was putting away her dagger away while scolding Leo. "A _flash-bang_ , Leo? What were you thinking?"

Leo held up his hands, looking apologetic. "Sorry—you okay, man?"

Percy managed a grunt, straightening on wobbly legs.

"It's a new thing I've been testing—a personal defense mechanism." Leo stooped and picked up what looked to be the remnants of a simple celestial bracelet. "Someone tries to attack you and bam! The bracelet is activated and takes them out. I call it the Valdez 2.0—the first one tended to explode randomly." Leo scratched his head. "I'm still trying to figure out a way for it to recognize friends from enemies. But you're officially my first test subject!" Leo brightened. "How did it feel? How many fingers am I holding up? Didn't knock you out, so I guess I need to increase the sound output . . ."

"Hey, fire pants!" A familiar voice growled. There was the slam of a door, and Percy could make out a tall figure coming towards them.

"Aw, come on Clarisse, that was one time—and the pants didn't even burn completely." Leo said.

"What in Hades' name do you think you're doing?" Clarisse neared, and Percy could see red sparks—she'd brought out her electric spear. "I'm trying to sleep, Valdez."

"Uh, right, very pointy weapon," Leo backpedaled.

Annabeth shook her head, and she and Percy turned and left before the situation escalated any further.

"Hey, you're ditching me now?" Leo shouted after them.

A few seconds later, they heard the snap of metal teeth and an enraged growl from Clarisse. "A mouse trap? _A mouse trap?_ "

"Sounds pretty eventful for the middle of the night."

Percy and Annabeth had their weapons out in a split second. Then Percy's eyes widened as he saw who he was pointing Riptide at.

"Hazel, Frank! Uh, sorry about that," Percy gestured to Riptide, capping his sword. "Caught us by surprise."

Within the frame of the Iris-message, Hazel laughed. "No worries—I would've done the same thing. And Frank probably would've turned into an elephant."

Frank turned red and mumbled something, to which Hazel laughed again and rolled her eyes. "I'm just teasing you, Frank."

"What are you guys doing up so late?" Annabeth asked. "Is it something about Rachel? How's she coming along with deciphering the Sibylline books?"

"Yeah, breaking curfew isn't really your thing, Frank. Not setting a very good example as Praetor." Percy grinned. He didn't mention that he and Annabeth were also breaking curfew.

"It's not midnight yet—different time zones, remember?" Hazel shrugged and her curly cinnamon hair bounced lightly. "And don't worry about Rachel at the moment—we're breaking curfew for a very good reason: we wanted to wish you a happy birthday!" She beamed, her golden eyes twinkling.

"Um, yeah, congrats—you're officially a legal adult now." Frank gave a smile, but it was clearly forced. There was something else on his mind. A quiver of arrows rose up from behind his shoulder, and while Frank's arm disappeared out of view of the Iris-message, Percy was pretty sure he was gripping his bow.

Annabeth frowned. "What? What's wrong?"

Hazel shot Frank an annoyed look. "Nothing."

"Frank," Percy said, "spill it."

The Praetor pursed his lips and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His Imperial Gold armor clinked quietly while his purple toga rustled. "We saw something odd today." He confessed. "A spartus, lurking outside of our borders, by the side of the highway."

Annabeth blinked in surprise. "From your dad?"

Frank's father was the Roman god of war, Mars. While on his first quest, the god gave Frank a spear that could summon a spartus three times. This was different, however. "I don't know. By the time I was alerted by the sentry and had gone out to see it, it was gone." Frank shook his head. "It's weird—we've had a few sightings of a couple of them the last few days, and they always seemed to be roaming randomly."

Percy frowned. "What, like rogue spartus?"

Annabeth looked slightly worried, clearly uneasy with the idea. Her worry was understandable—all of them were aware of just how dangerous a spartus could be. "But a spartus has to be summoned—they're always controlled by someone else. They can't be rogue."

Hazel gave an exasperated sigh. "We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry on the day of your birthday." She bit her lip, shifting out of the frame of the Iris-message momentarily. "But, I don't know if a spartus _can't_ be rogue. What if their master were to suddenly die or become unable to give them orders—what would happen then?"

Percy shifted, looking worried. "There's only one place I know of that has a lot of skeleton warriors. The Underworld—Hades' palace. The place is guarded by dozens of them."

"What are you suggesting?" Frank asked, clearly uneasy. "That they _escaped_ from the Underworld?"

Screech shook her wings, clacking her beak.

Hazel tilted her head. "Who's your new friend?"

Annabeth had nearly forgotten about Screech, she'd been so quiet. "Hazel, Frank—this is Screech." She said, gesturing between the three of them. "We found her in Central Park—her whole family is dead."

Frank nodded, understanding. "The bird apocalypse thing?" He guessed. "We lost two of our eagles—they just fell out of the sky while performing a routine scout." The giant eagles of Camp Jupiter were used by the Roman demigods for a variety of tasks, including protecting the camp and medevac.

Percy's eyes widened. "Two of them? What about the rest of the eagles—are they okay?"

Hazel nodded. "Completely fine. We're still trying to find out what they died from, and how they went from healthy to sick in the span of a second."

Annabeth had a feeling that they wouldn't be very successfully in their investigation any time soon. Nevertheless, she said, "Let us know if you find anything—about the birds or the spartus."

Frank nodded. "Of course."

"We'd better get to bed—before the curfew harpies find us." Annabeth said. "We'll talk more about this later."

Frank nodded again, and slashed his hand through the image, ending the Iris-message.

In the sudden silence, Percy and Annabeth could hear distant taunts from Leo and shouts from a certain daughter of Ares.

Annabeth frowned. "We never asked Leo how he found out about our meeting with Tony."

Percy gave Annabeth a kiss. "We'll find out tomorrow—I mean, later today. Once I've got some sleep. Night."

Annabeth smiled, kissing him back. "Night. Thank you for the amazing birthday."

"No problem—that's what boyfriends are for." Percy grinned, drunk with sleep.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, pushing him away in the direction of the Poseidon cabin. "Go to bed."

Percy gave an extravagant salute. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The Mad Titan.

Loki was certain that Thanos had many other names and titles, but "Mad Titan" was the only one he was familiar with. A formidable being who possessed terrifying power, Thanos was as elusive as he was dangerous. The universe knew little about him, and Loki was no exception—despite his many months under his influence, he knew next to nothing about Thanos. What planet he was from, what race he belonged to—even his plans had remained unknown to him. Universal domination was just as likely as universal extinction, and he found it more than a little ill foreboding to consider that Thanos' name was rather similar to Thanatos, the god of death among the Greeks on Midgard. All Loki really knew about Thanos was that he wished to acquire the Infinity Stones.

Loki first had his suspicions while working with (or more accurately, under) the Mad Titan. There had been constant whispers among the Chitauri that Thanos was searching for a weapon—a great and terrible power in the form of six relics. His suspicions were further developed when Thor's lover, Jane Foster, was transported to the very location in which the Aether had been hidden. For the human to end up in that exact place . . . the probability that it had been a mere coincidence was near non-existent. What was more likely was that the Aether had called to her—pulled her to its location out of its desire for a host. And for the Aether to do such a thing, after centuries of quiet slumber, indicated that it had been awakened—by something powerful. Something like Thanos. It was aware that it and its brethren were being sought out, and it had reacted by exposing its location. The degree of sentience involved did not worry Loki—it was the fact that it appeared that the Aether had helped Thanos along, by revealing itself and coming out of hiding.

And the very thought of the Mad Titan possessing the most powerful artifacts of all existence was enough to make Loki's knees weak. With the Stones in hand, Thanos was capable of . . .

Anything.

Everything.

With the Infinity Stones, Thanos could reshape the laws of nature or eliminate time itself. Universal domination and universal extinction suddenly became not only plausible to achieve, but terrifyingly easy. And when Loki spoke of the universe, he wasn't simply referring to the Nine Realms. The universe went far beyond, through billions and trillions of light-years that included countless lifeforms, empires, planets, and galaxies.

And with the Infinity Stones, Thanos had the ability to affect every single living thing in the Universe. Considering the power of the Stones, stopping Ragnarök would be effortless. Loki simply needed to acquire the relics and, of course, find a way to wield them.

Anyone with even a basic knowledge of the Stones knew that they were nigh impossible to wield. The power of even a single Stone was so great that if one attempted to use it, the likelihood of dying was high. Loki himself was only able to use the Mind Stone because the scepter contained the majority of the Stone's power, shielding him from its destructive capabilities.

However, during his time with Thanos, a rumour had run rampant throughout the ranks of the Chitauri—the Mad Titan had found a way to wield all six Stones without destroying himself.

Considering this information, Loki was worried to say the least.

And the worry was not new. Worrying, thinking—sighing. They were all actions that had become rather familiar to Loki, to the point where he realized that he was no longer Loki the Cunning, but rather Loki the Melancholy. His time with Thanos, his act of killing Odin and deceiving Thor—they were proving to be burdensome with guilt.

And yet, standing in the weapon's vault, looking upon the Tesseract locked within a special container designed to contain its energy, Loki began to feel the stirrings of his old self. He could still be Loki the Cunning. In fact, he would need to be if he was to find a way to not only acquire all six Infinity Stones, but wield them as well.

A well fabricated illusion of Odin in his chambers would suffice as he paid a visit to Vanaheim to speak with Frey.

* * *

 _"_ _. . . Ragnarök is triggered by a certain event."_

 _"_ _And that is?" Fury asked._

 _"_ _The death of my father, Odin." Thor paused. "But don't worry—he is not yet dead, and will not be for another thousand years, at least."_

"Well, at least we'll all be dead by the time this apocalypse happens." Clint said, always the realist. "Can you imagine the time we'd have trying to stop Ragnarök?"

Thor shook his head. "You cannot stop it—it's inevitable. Did you not hear me speak about the Norns prophesizing the event? Attempting to stop Ragnarök would be similar to stopping time itself—it is a fundamental part of the Nine Realms. It _must_ come to pass."

"That's what all the apocalypse fanatics said about December 21st, but look at us now—the Earth's still spinning." Sam pointed out.

Thor frowned at him, faintly recognizing the man. "And you are?"

The man crossed his arms. "Sam Wilson."

Ah, this was one of the new recruits. "Well, Sam Wilson, I will take your remark as a consequence of your ignorance concerning Asgard. Our prophecies and predictions are not to be taken as heresay or tittle-tattle—they are to be treated with the utmost importance and care."

"'Tittle-tattle'?" Sam muttered.

"So when I tell you that the Norns _prophecized_ Ragnarök, it means that it _will_ happen."

"No need to get riled up, Thor—we understand." Steve said. "Now, why are you here?"

Thor gave one last lingering frown at Sam, before turning to the captain. "I bear news regarding the Infinity Stones."

Steve nodded. "You had suspicions that someone was searching for them."

"And I've confirmed my suspicions—I believe they are not only searching for them, but also wish to acquire them."

Sam put a hand up. "I'm sorry, can someone explain these 'Infinity Stones' to me? I think I missed the memo."

Thor frowned at Sam again, feeling rather irritated with the man now. "They are the remnants of six singularities that existed before creation itself."

"Um, English?"

Thor sighed. "Before creation existed, there were six singularities: Mind, Space, Time, Reality, Power and Soul. Then the universe was born into existence, and the remnants of these systems were left behind in the form of the six Infinity Stones. These Stones are relics of immense power, and can only be wielded by certain individuals—powerful individuals."

"Like Vision." Rhodes said, gesturing to the floating figure. Vision nodded back.

"Yes. You have only just begun to tap into the Mind Stone's power—energy beams, 'phasing' through objects—as you Midgardians put it—, manipulation of gravity to enable flight—they are only just glimpses into the vast expanse of the Stone's power."

"'Glimpses?" Wanda asked, becoming more and more interested in the conversation. No one could blame her—after all, her powers were the direct result of the Mind Stone. "What else could be done?"

Thor shook his head. "I know not. The Stones have not been wielded for ages—at least not to a great extent, in any case." He neglected to tell them that one of the Stones—the Power Stone—had in fact been used very recently. There was no need to tell them of the many galaxies and planets that existed beyond the Nine Realms—not yet anyhow. The same went for Asgard—he only told his Midgardian friends the bare necessities regarding his home realm. There was never a need to tell them any more.

"So, someone's looking for these Stones." Sam said. "And that's bad."

"If they have ill intent, yes. The Stones are capable of an unimaginable amount of destruction—your nuclear weapons are nothing in comparison to them. The damage that one could wreak upon the universe would be devastating." Thor tossed his hammer, catching it. "Fortunately, the great power of the Stones also ensures that it is near impossible for an individual to wield all six Stones—though the destructive capabilities of even a single Stone is terrible enough. You yourselves saw the power of the Tesseract when it was used by Loki, and it even had the potential to be an unlimited energy source, if you had only learned how to use it," Thor said, nodding to Fury.

"And if you hadn't taken it away from us." Fury added, unblinking.

"Do you know where all the Stones are?" Steve asked. "You're keeping the Tesseract on Asgard, right? And Vision has the Mind Stone. Where are the rest of the Stones?"

"The Power Stone and the Aether, the Reality Stone, are also in safe hands," Thor said. In fact, the Power Stone was currently under the protection of the Nova Corps, on the planet Xandar. And the Aether was residing in the Collector's museum, on Knowhere. But he didn't say this aloud. "However, the whereabouts of the Time Stone and the Soul Stone are unknown. A . . . friend of mine, recently informed me that one of the Stones was here, somewhere on Midgard."

Wanda blinked. "Here? But . . . how did it get here?"

"I do not know. Nevertheless, the Stone _is_ here, and I had hoped that you might help me in my search for it."

Steve looked to Tony, the tension between the two men momentarily gone. "Howard found the Tesseract by tracking the radiation it emitted, didn't he?"

Tony stood up. "Yup. Around the time that he found you." Howard Stark, Tony's father, found the Tesseract shortly after Steve crashlanded a plane that contained a nuclear bomb bound for New York during World War II.

"So we could try the same thing now—track it by its radiation signature." Sam said.

"Sure, just one problem. My father already knew the general area that the Tesseract would be in—there was a tracker on the plane that you heroically crashed into the ice. It would've taken him much longer to find the Tesseract if he only had the gamma radiation to look for and an entire planet within the search radius."

"Well, you guys found the Tesseract when you were looking for that crazy god a few years ago, right?"

Thor shifted, more than irritated now. "That 'crazy god' was my brother."

Sam wasn't intimidated. "You guys were brothers? You look nothing alike."

Steve ignored the two of them. "We had help when we were looking for Loki and the Tesseract." He traded a look with Natasha. "Bruce Banner, an expert in gamma radiation."

The room fell silent for a moment.

"I'll see what I can do," Tony said. "Friday always loves the challenge, right?"

 _"Of course, Boss."_

"One science bro against the world." Tony muttered, quiet enough that the words only reached the three pairs of enhanced ears in the room. Well, four pairs, if you included the kid that was currently hiding just outside the room, clinging to the side of the Tower under the shadows of the landing pad.

"And this person whose searching for the Stones—do you have any intel on them?" Steve asked.

Thor shook his head in frustration. "No, nothing. No name, location—not an inkling. But I will continue my search—they will not remain hidden from me forever."

"If you need any help, let us know." Steve said.

Thor nodded.

"'Percy Jackson'?"

Everybody turned towards Fury, who had wandered into the adjoining room while listening to the conversation. He was looking at one of Tony's transparent screens. On it was a series of graphs and numbers, along with the outline of a body. Tony had forgotten to clear Percy's vitals off the screen from when Friday performed a full body scan to diagnose the kid's vitals. And at the top of the screen, in large, glowing letters, one could clearly read: PERCY JACKSON.

"A friend of mine," Tony said. "Had a little hiccup while at my party. But he's fine now—actually, Friday said he and Annabeth left."

 _"At 12:24 am,"_ Friday supplied.

Fury's frown did not desist. He recognized the name from somewhere. "Show me a picture of him."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Of course, director. Oh wait—you're not the director anymore. Or my boss. Actually, considering you work at our compound—the 'Avengers compound'—and I'm an _Avenger_ , doesn't that mean I'm your boss?" Tony sat down and leaned back, sipping his water like it was wine.

Fury's eye twitched. "Show me a picture of Percy Jackson . . . please."

Tony didn't bother to hide his smirk. "Of course. Friday?"

"It would be my pleasure." A picture of a black-haired, green-eyed boy was drawn up on the screen.

Fury's frown deepened as he struggled to recall where the picture and name came from, and suddenly, the fog in his mind cleared. This kid had come up on SHIELD's radar several years ago, when he became a suspect of terrorist activity. His file had passed by Fury's desk for the briefest of moments before the director had thrown it into the shredder. There was no evidence that the 12 year old was involved in foreign terrorism. And there was absolutely no proof of the child being a domestic terrorist—his mother had been poor and busy, and his drunk of a stepfather more likely to be a fairy than a terrorist. Or perhaps not. Nevertheless, the probabilities that the child was a terrorist and had some kind of involvement in his mother's disappearance had been near nil. And his name was . . .

"Perseus Jackson." Fury recalled.

Wanda made a face. "'Perseus'? Why would anyone name their child 'Perseus'?"

"Can't blame him for shortening it." Sam laughed.

"And this is why I didn't tell any of you about it—some things can be very traumatic for a child." Tony said with understanding.

"And how is it that this kid became a friend of the great Tony Stark?" Fury asked.

"He's Tony's fighting instructor," Rhodes explained.

Fury raised a brow. "A kid with ADHD is _teaching_ you how to _fight_?"

"Wow, just spill his life story!" Tony put down his mug, annoyed. "Why don't you just let everyone else know that he's also dyslexic!"

Nobody bothered to point out Tony's slip-up. He'd clearly had too much to drink, despite his high tolerance for alcohol.

"How do you know Percy?" Steve asked.

"He was a suspect of terrorism, several years ago. SHIELD investigated." Fury didn't bother to mention that the investigation was a brief look at the kid's file before the fatal trip to the shredder.

"But he was quickly cleared of all charges." Clint said. Everyone looked at him and he shrugged. "You think I'm going to invite a kid to the Tower without first giving him a background check?"

"Perseus was a hero in classic Greek mythology," Vision said, breaking into the conversation. He gave Wanda a meaningful look. She caught it and understood, remembering the mention of Tartarus earlier in the day—another connection to Greek mythology couldn't be a coincidence. "He is notable for being one of the few heroes to have a 'happy ending'."

"Anything else you forgot to mention about Percy?" Natasha asked Tony and Clint.

"I do not think it would be wise to divulge any more information without Percy's permission." Vision said quietly.

"Exactly." Tony said. "Let's respect his privacy, shall we? If you've got any questions, ask him on Thursday during my next lesson."

* * *

Volstagg downed another draught of ale and slammed the empty globet onto the table.

"Volstagg, friend, tell me what is wrong." Fandral pleaded.

" _Nothing_!" He growled. He stood up suddenly and began to pace the marble floor, his steps heavy with anger.

Fandral traded a worried look with Hogun and Sif before looking back towards Volstagg, only to see the heels of the warrior just as he left the dining hall.

"Wait, Volstagg—" Fandral attempted to follow him, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be," Hogun said quietly.

Fandral pursed his lips but reluctantly nodded.

. . .

Guilt. Hel-heavy, burdensome guilt that burned in Volstagg's heart. For he had been responsible for their deaths, he had abandoned them when they needed him most. Because he had been scared. A weakling.

A coward.

The raiders had scoured through his village while he was away, and instead of running to the aid of his family and friends, he had turned the other way and fled.

He had all but pushed the memories away, hid them deep within his heart and mind so as to stop the guilt from consuming him. So as to stop others from seeing his terrible, shameful actions. The only person who knew about his young, cowardly self was Thor. The prince of Asgard found him and helped shape him into a new person—a warrior who ran headfirst into fights with brazen courage.

But their recent meeting with Frey had opened the old wounds—he had used some sort of dark magic laced within his song, and had reawakened the guilt. Reminded Volstagg of who he used to be. His face coloured with shame, his hands shook with grief, and his heart ached with guilt.

A guilt that was fueling his anger. Frey had absolutely no right to do such a thing to him! What did he know about grief and guilt? He was a friend of the once-existent Dark Elves, a practitioner of magic that revelled in darkness and night.

A suspicion entered Volstagg's feverish mind. What if Frey was helping this shadowed individual who was searching for the Stones? What if he had used his magic on them to incapacitate them, render them useless in any impending battles? Though none of his friends spoke of it, he knew that they were all occupied with their own secrets and regrets which Frey's magic had stirred up within them.

Volstagg hefted his axe and made up his mind, setting off determinedly for the Observatory. He was returning to Vanaheim, and Frey was going to tell him whatever secrets he was harbouring.

* * *

 **Thoughts? Questions? Let's see if we can't reach 275 reviews, shall we? Also, I had no idea what to name this chapter, so I'm welcome to any ideas or suggestions.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews**

 **Possibly (Guest; May 31** **st** **):** _Sure, ask away! Just a heads up, I don't know much about religion or gods, but I'll do my best._

 **HaywireEagle:** _I'm glad that I got your review at this point of the story, because I see the points you're making, and I agree with the majority of them. Hopefully, the explanations and insights that I provide in future chapters will be sufficient in painting a more realistic picture in regards to the PTSD. Thank you very much for your reviews—they were highly informative and great to read. I look forward to reading more of them in the future. :)_

 **limegreenarcher:** _I did see the Guardians of the Galaxy . . . I was referring to those who had yet to see the movie. But totally agree with you—the movie was fantastic and hilarious._

 **Anonymous (Guest; May 28** **th** **):** _Thank you! I'm truly very sorry that I'm beginning to incorporate Civil War elements starting with the next chapter, but I can't push it any further, otherwise it would begin to negatively impact the plot._

 **Canadiancolds:** _Thank you! That's so cool that you and dar losh are siblings!_ _I definitely see where you're coming from in regards to the injustices that Loki has faced, and I never intended to portray Loki as one who was bipolar. However, he is unpredictable, and has killed many in cold blood before (Dark Elves), but hopefully, his portrayal will be better in future chapters. Let me know your thoughts! I'm not quite sure who you're referring to when you say "7" . . . (or was this a typo?) I actually was just introduced to Sherlock Holmes BBC and binge watched the three seasons—they were absolutely fantastic, and I loved the characters. The actors are extremely talented and the soundtrack is amazing as well (I'm actually listening to it right now, lol). Unfortunately, this story will remain a PJO/Avengers/Marvel crossover, though I won't say no to a Sherlock Holmes cameo. Perhaps in a future chapter ;)_

 **willdawg992003** : _Yeah, I've seen some of the rumours, but decided that this would best work for this story. Are you referring to Loki? He doesn't actually know all the heroes—he's just smart enough to know that there does exist many extraordinary individuals in the Nine Realms._

 **Minjad:** _At this point, no, simply because I'm not familiar with the series. But they . . . might. Key word being 'might'._

 **Hadian:** _Your review effectively baffled me. LOL_

 **Lisaloves:** _Totally forgot to properly introduce Thanos—it was a terrible mistake on my part. Hopefully this chapter clears up any confusion._

 **Aqila:** _Thanks! And we'll see if Peter spills Percy's identity, in the next chapter . . . ;) The grey skeleton was one of the skeleton warriors that Atlas used—I'm not sure that's the same thing as a karpoi, though . . . Unfortunately, I don't have a schedule—I used to when I had school, but no longer._


	16. I Spy a Spider

**MUST READ: So, I'm starting to incorporate** ** _Civil War_** **elements, beginning with this chapter—just a heads up to those who have yet to watch the movie. If you do stop reading this story, I hope you return to it once you've seen** ** _Civil War_** **.**

* * *

 **So, it's been a long time since I had a decent sized A/N.**

 **Guess the first thing I want to start off with is, it's not quite fair to ask for reviews if the chapters are a struggle to read, yes? My writing has been rather lacking in quality lately, and I'm still trying to find out why. Part of the reason is allergies. It's like having the flu 24/7, but there's no permanent cure. Stuffed nose, sneezing, itchy eyes . . . hopefully some of you are able to empathize. All I think is,** ** _don't rub the eyes, don't rub the eyes, don't rub the eyes,_** **and a minute later, I've succumbed to the itch and my eyes are red and nearly swollen shut. And afterwards, I can't concentrate on anything 'cuz I'm too busy trying not to scratch them out. There are few things I hate, but I HATE allergies. Hopefully, you can imagine how difficult it is to write with them.**

 **I know a lot of you still have school, and I wish you all good luck with tests and exams. Just remember to take a breather, and that it's not the end of the world—no matter how much it may seem to be.**

 **Didn't know what to call this chapter either . . . maybe I'll come up with a title later.**

 **Thank you for all the reviews! We're nearly at 300 - let's see if we can reach it in this chapter!**

 **I sincerely hope that this chapter is up to better standards than my more recent postings. And I sincerely hope you enjoy it. I'm in this highly philosophical frame of mind right now, because I'm writing Vision's POV, and I've come to this realization: if you're happy, I'm happy, and the world . . . well, it ain't perfect, but it's alright. (I'm pretty sure I'm going to regret saying this later, but I'm in a good mood right now).**

 **Anyways . . .**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 16

 _"I do not think it would be wise to divulge any more information without Percy's permission." Vision said quietly._

 _"Exactly." Tony said. "Let's respect his privacy, shall we? If you've got any questions, ask him on Thursday during my next lesson."_

"And where will this next lesson be?" Fury asked.

"There's this tiny little—"

 _"Boss, more pictures of Percy Jackson are appearing on the web."_ Several low-quality images showed up on one of Tony's screens. One could make out a body falling, and some black hair, but that was it. You couldn't expect much from photos taken on street level by phones in a dimming afternoon light.

"Any other, better pictures?" Tony asked, looking over each photo before swiping it off the screen. It was a testament to the strength of his growing friendship with Percy that he was combing through these photos at such a late time, considering how tired he was—as one could see from the faint circles beneath his eyes.

 _"Not at the moment_."

"Alright, let him and Annabeth know they're in the clear." Tony said, dismissing the last photo.

Fury gave him a questioning look and Tony shrugged. "Kid likes to be discreet—and you mentioned that Annabeth was worried about someone being able to identify Percy." He looked at Steve.

The captain gave a curt nod.

"Oh, Annabeth is Percy's girlfriend, in case you didn't know." Tony said offhandedly in Fury's direction.

Fury approached the screen, scrutinizing the photos. "Are you telling me he _fell_ from the Tower?"

"Like I said before—he had a little hiccup. Nothing that couldn't be fixed." Tony said.

From the couch, Wanda yawned and a small sound escaped her. She gave an apologetic look.

"What time is it?" Clint asked.

"3:12 am." Vision responded immediately, pulling the information from the web. He picked at the sleeve of the grey sweater he was wearing, feeling uncomfortable—a rather alien sensation for him.

He was used to his cape—it was the first thing he saw after being . . . born. Yes, born. There weren't many words that could better describe the event in which he went from a still, synthetic body to a conscious entity with energy thrumming through his Vibranium-enriched flesh. Perhaps "wakening"? The cape was the first thing he saw after wakening? That was better.

Technically, the cape _wasn't_ the first thing he saw. It was the first thing he saw on the first person he saw: Thor. It had seemed an appropriate decision at the time—everyone had been clothed in some kind of garment. Over time, however, he had started taking to the cape for a different reason other than abiding by social convention—he felt it to be a tribute to one of the men who had assisted in his wakening, Thor. After all, it was the Asgardian's lightning that had provided the energy to, quite literally, jumpstart his body to life. Or what life he possessed, anyhow. He had synthetic organs, but he didn't use any of them—there was no blood beating through his body, no electric signals running between his nerve cells. And of course, he had the yellow stone embedded in his forehead—the Mind Stone. And Vision had no doubt that this small, unassuming artifact had played a primary role in his wakening.

This knowledge hadn't bothered him in the beginning. In fact, while he had been aware of the information, he had dismissed it within a nanosecond because it was unimportant. He had no need for organs, and the teal and cherry colors of his skin did not concern him. However, as he spent more time in the company of humans, he began to realize that he was an outcast. But this realization did not bother him either, for what did it matter if he was an outcast or an accepted team member? It wasn't that he didn't care for such things—it was that he couldn't care for such things. They were matters of an insignificant, inconsequential nature.

But then Wanda came along, and Vision had his first world-changing realization. He began to realize that what he learned from the World Wide Web and what he learned from those around him . . . they were two _very_ different things. The web had told him all about emotions. Humans could feel fear, and it was often exhibited by an elevated heart rate and raised arm hairs. They could feel anger, and it was often conveyed through raised voices, words and phrases such as "idiot" and "why don't you go f*** yourself" (these were just two examples among hundreds in the English language), and the slamming of doors or stomping of feet. They could feel joy, happiness, grief, humour, annoyance, tiredness, confusion and so many other emotions. Vision learned all of this from the web. But what the web didn't tell him was how confusing confusion could be. Because that was the first emotion he felt: confusion. Confusion, when Wanda approached him and asked if he would like to take a walk with her over the grassy grounds of the Avengers compound. It had been a week since they'd defeated Ultron.

"What is wrong?" Vison asked as he followed Wanda outside.

"Nothing." She said it so simply in her heavy accent that Vision felt even more confusion. Why did she want to talk to him if nothing was wrong?

"Nothing? Then why do you wish to speak with me?"

"I don't." She said, as if it was obvious. "I just want to walk. You can fly, if you'd like."

In the following weeks and months, Vision became more and more aware that he shouldn't rely on the web for all his information—that he _couldn't_. Because there were articles that were biased, videos that were edited, scientific journals that were inaccurate, and most importantly, the web was the culmination of the experiences of humanity. And not one of these experiences had been personally experienced by Vision. And that's when Vision learned that the web was really a secondary source for him—and his primary source? Well, it was what _he_ experienced.

And so, when Wanda came along, he began to learn with his own senses. And she taught him. She taught him something new everyday. And the first thing he learned? The art of friendship.

The first time he laughed, he was in Wanda's company. It had been in the morning and she had come out of her room wearing grey sweats and a black V-neck. It conflicted so greatly with her usual red or black leather outfit that Vision couldn't help but give a quiet laugh. It just slipped out.

Upon hearing him, Wanda looked in his direction, clearly disgruntled with her change in wardrobe. "Don't laugh. I wasn't able to salvage my other two sets of clothing after the . . . mishaps with my powers yesterday, and Steve said that the new orders won't come until tomorrow." She pulled on the hem of her shirt. "I look absolutely ridiculous. I don't know how Americans can call this clothing."

Vision heard her, but barely registered her words because he was too consumed with the new feelings that seemed to be assaulting his mind. And that's how he learned that laughing was like manipulating his density to enable flight—he felt lighter. The bright sun beamed down upon him through the glass ceiling and he felt a smile curve on his face.

And in the end, Wanda's continued disgruntled mood only made him laugh more, until she had no choice but to join him in his mirth, her light laughs seeming to weave through his own.

He learned that sadness was contagious, because when Wanda particularly struggled to control her powers, it was as if a dark cloud hung over her, and the dark cloud expanded so that it hung over him as well, making him feel as if he had become as heavy as osmium.

And that's how he learned how to comfort her when she was sad. And later on, he learned that the methods he used to comfort Wanda were not necessarily the most appropriate methods one should use to comfort another person, such as Rhodes.

Vision had been gliding down the hallway when he saw Rhodes in an otherwise empty conference room, looking rather disquieted. Recognizing that he needed assurance and comfort, Vision had walked in (because he had begun to realize that the humans became rather unnerved when he levitated in their presence) and sat on a chair next to the man

Rhodes had looked up and his jaw had tightened. It was during the time that Rhodes was only just beginning his attempts to accept Vision. "Hey. Now's really not a good time to talk . . . Vision."

"That's fine. There's no need to talk. I'm here if you need me." Vision said, remembering his well practiced words—Wanda always gave him a faint smile whenever he said them. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder, giving him a reassuring look.

Rhodes jumped up, sending his chair flying back to hit the wall with a loud bang. "What the hell are you doing, man?"

Vision blinked, the reaction taking him utterly by surprise. "I thought you wanted comfort."

Rhodes had shaken his head, looking at him as if he were insane. Without another word, the man had stridden out of the conference room, taking a sharp right.

In the many months of his time among humans—and more notably, with Wanda—Vision learned as much as a baby would, if a baby had the knowledge and intellect of the World Wide Web and a body, along with powers, that were unique to it within the entire universe.

That's when Vision began to realize that he, _he_ , was changing. Perceiving his cape as an appropriate decision, but later considering it a tribute to Thor. Experiencing emotions first hand. _Learning._ Vision was still terribly naïve and ignorant, and he turned to the Web whenever his own experiences proved inadequate to address a situation (which occurred often). "Intelligently ignorant" Wanda liked to say. He still had an unwavering moral compass that was governed by precise and stringent principles. But Vision had changed, and he was still changing. He just couldn't see how, or where it was headed.

But back to the grey sweater whose sleeve he was beginning to unravel with all his pulling and plucking. Wanda had been insisting that he begin to wear 'normal clothes'—clothes worn by humans on a daily basis. And somewhere, between the time that Tony and Steve first started arguing and the time when Fury arrived, she had managed to coax him into wearing a grey sweater and black pants. He wanted to say that he preferred his cape over this new outfit, but he didn't know what to make of that—he was only just beginning to realize that he actually had preferences, and favoured some things over others. Like a happy Wanda, rather than a sad Wanda.

Upon hearing the time, Steve stood up from his seat on the couch, breaking the quiet, drowsy atmosphere. "We had better return to the compound—you've got a full day's training ahead of you," he nodded to Wanda, "and I want to start 8:00 am sharp."

Wanda grimaced. It had been a long day for her. Mourning for Pietro before expending her energy to catch Percy, only for Steve and Tony to argue afterwards, to the point where even she was exhausted just from watching them. "We can't move it to 10, just this once?"

"We'll see."

The group filed out, thanking Tony for hosting the party and saying good-bye to Pepper on the way out. Thor loudly announced that he would see Jane before paying a visit to the compound. Soon, only Steve and Tony were left in the lounge room.

Steve leaned forward in his seat. "Tony . . ."

"I'm going to stop you right there." Tony said, putting his back to Steve and placing his mug on the table. "It doesn't take a mind reader to know what you're thinking. Let me tell you what I'm thinking." Tony turned around, giving Steve a hard look. "We're out of line. We have been since the beginning. Took me some time to see that, but I see it alright now." Tony pulled out a small transparent, rectangular screen from his pocket—his phone. He tapped it towards one of his larger screens and an array of e-mails, phone calls, and pictures appeared.

"I listen to them everyday," Tony turned towards Steve. "We—killed—them." He pointed to the pictures. "Damian Sharpe. Kid was a genius, was already devoting his life to helping the world." Another picture of utter destruction and rubble rose up on the screen. "Too bad he died in Sokovia because we were also trying to "help the world". Do I have to get started on the others?"

Steve knew what he meant by "others". He was referring to all the other people—victims, some people called them. Victims of . . . victims of the Avengers.

"Don't you see? We're not stopping. Everywhere we go, it's 'collateral damage'."

Steve's gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying something he couldn't take back. "You know I don't think that—"

"Yeah, I know you don't. But to everyone else, that's exactly what it looks like."

"So you want me to support oversight to save face?"

Tony sat on the couch across from him. "I want you to support your own teammate to save lives."

Steve sighed. "Tony, I don't want to fight you."

"Neither do I."

"But I can't." Steve stood up and left the room, his footsteps echoing.

. . .

"It appears you're at a stalemate."

"Does it? I thought I was pretty convincing," Tony leaned back in his seat.

Nick Fury stepped out from the shadows of the adjoining room, his hands neatly clasped behind his back.

"I was wondering why you brought out that dusty old trench coat again." Tony said. "Should have guessed that you're back to spying on people."

"Observing, not spying." Fury said calmly in his rough voice.

"Thought you were going back to the compound with the rest of the motley crew." Tony stood up, wandering to the kitchen/bar. "You do realize I pay your wages, right?"

Fury looked at him, clearly unimpressed. "Still am. Just thought that I should stick around a little longer and listen to the conversation—sounded pretty important." Fury observed the rows of glasses behind the counter of the bar. "Looks like I missed something earlier."

"Nah, it was just a misunderstanding. No biggie."

* * *

Peter Parker needed to sneeze.

Like, really needed to. He'd been holding it in for the past half an hour, but the demands of the nose could not be ignored for much longer. There were tears in his eyes and his nose was twitching non-stop, no matter how much he pinched the bridge of his nose or scrunched up his face.

If only Tony Stark dusted underneath his landing pad every now and then, he wouldn't be having this problem. Peter didn't have allergies, but the occasional mote of dust was enough to tickle his nose, and there were more than a few motes, despite how tall the Tower was and how powerful the winds blew. It was all in the technique—if you didn't dust all the crevices and corners, there was bound to be one or two congregations of dust.

He barely heard Nicholas Fury's next words.

"If you . . ."

* * *

". . . say so."

 _Achoo!_

Fury turned around, frowning, and watched as Tony pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Bless you." He said finally.

Tony blew his nose loudly, and then tossed the handkerchief into a trash bin behind the counter of the bar. "No thanks—never trusted blessings. Especially not ones from former spies. _No offense_." The look he gave clearly showed that he meant all the offense that was possible.

Fury wiped the frown clear off his face, giving nothing away. "None taken. Well, I'd better be off—it's late, and I'm sure you need your beauty sleep."

"Of course." If Tony was surprised by his sudden change in subject, he didn't show it. He looked rather occupied with something else.

Fury left the room with several lingering thoughts in his head.

One, Percy Jackson was becoming a rather suspicious fellow. A suspect amidst terrorist activity, only to later become Tony Stark's instructor? Most likely a coincidence, but Fury couldn't shake the feeling in his gut that there was more to this kid than appeared.

And two? That most definitely did not sound like one of Stark's sneezes.

. . .

Tony waited until Friday told him that Fury had left the Tower, and that the entire floor was empty, before he walked through the lounge room and out onto the landing pad.

"I didn't know you had allergies." Tony said conversationally.

A blue and red clad person leapt onto the landing pad, straightening with a groan and pulling off the head portion of the suit to reveal a young boy's face.

"I don't!" Peter said earnestly. "No offense Mr. Stark, but you have a _serious_ dust infestation."

"No offense taken. Now get in here before someone notices you." Tony said, walking back inside.

Peter followed him inside, passing some of his large, transparent screens with barely a flicker of a glance now—a big difference from the first few times Peter came to the Tower and was unable to take his eyes away from all the technology.

Peter sat down on one of the couches, stretching out. "Uh, thanks for the save Mr. Stark—I thought my nose was going to explode."

"No problem—can't have Fury suspecting anything, can we now?"

 _"Welcome, Mr. Parker."_

Peter grinned, giving his customary greeting. "Hey Friday, how are you?"

 _"Very good, thank you._ "

"She's artificial, Peter. That's what she's going to tell you every single time you ask," Tony said, shaking his head.

Really, it shouldn't have come as any surprise for Tony. The kid made friends with his tech but eternally struggled to talk to the girl that sat beside him in nearly all his classes.

Tony had confronted the 15 year old high school student about a month earlier, upon discovering that he was the masked Spider-Man that had been swinging around New York for the past 6 months or so. Really, it wasn't that difficult to figure out his identity—having unrestricted access to a satellite helped. Tony decided to pay Peter a visit and, well . . . he'd seen something of himself in the kid.

 _"When you can do the things that I can, but you don't . . . and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you."_

That's what Peter had said while explaining why he decided to start fighting crime in New York. And Tony understood—he understood more than Peter could ever know. Hearing and seeing each death that occurred in all of their fights and conflicts, Tony felt helpless—he felt like he wasn't doing enough. The guilt weighed down on him like an anchor that refused to be pulled up and out of the sand. He'd seen that same guilt in Peter, and suspected that there were stories that the kid had yet to tell him. Tony didn't mind—let the kid tell him in his own time, when he was ready.

Peter was also a genius, something Tony prided in himself. Those web-shooters and synthetic webbing that the kid had made, all on his own? Highly ingenious—enough to impress Tony.

So he decided to take the kid under his wing—adopt him, in a way. He created a new suit for him to replace his hideous makeshift costume and gave him some tips when it came to being a vigilante. For now, it had been pretty smooth. Peter visited now and then, when the penthouse was empty, and May—Aunt May to Peter—remained under the impression that Tony was a academic benefactor of sorts for the kid. If this was what it was like to have a kid of your own, then Tony wouldn't mind having one in the future. He would, of course, first have to get married. It was a wonder that he hadn't had any divorces yet—he supposed that it was because he hadn't been stupid enough to get married. But this time, he knew he wasn't making a reckless decision—Pepper was The One. He just needed to find the perfect time to pop the question.

Why he kept Peter hidden from the others, he wasn't sure. Maybe because . . . he wanted to shield the kid from the real world for just a little longer. Prolong the time before he had to meet the whole world, and his fellow superheroes. Peter was a vigilante, and that was the freest kind of superhero of all—one who didn't have an obligation to follow the law, one who was only guided by a strong, personal sense of what was right and what was wrong. Tony grimaced for the smallest of seconds—why did it sound like he was relating Peter to Steve?

"So how long were you hanging there?" Tony asked, dismissing his own thoughts.

. . .

"Like 30 minutes—but I totally didn't mean to spy on you guys, Mr. Stark, I swear!" Peter said quickly. "I was, uh, just coming to see if I could talk to you . . ." _about the kid who fell from your Tower, Percy Jackson._ But Peter didn't say that because, thinking over the entire conversation he had just heard, he had a feeling that Mr. Stark only knew one side to Percy, and it didn't involve swords or powers of any sort.

He'd come to the Tower for information, and he'd gotten boatloads. The most important, however? It was pretty clear that Tony wasn't the only one in the shadows—the whole Avengers team was ignorant to Percy's entire identity. And that left Peter with a decision to make—should he tell Tony, or not? Should he tell him that the kid he had befriended had a side to him that was a lot less domestic than Percy had appeared so far?

For Peter, the decision really wasn't that hard. If Tony hadn't discovered that he was Spider-Man last month, he might've gone through another few years before telling anyone about his double life. It was Percy's choice, and Peter wasn't going to make it for him. Especially when it looked like the kid could break him in half or stab him with his pen-turned-sword (seriously, how _awesome_ was that?)—Peter swore, there was this look in his green eyes, and it definitely wasn't soft and cuddly.

Besides, even with everything he had seen and heard, he still didn't know much about Percy. During the battle between the strange tree girls and Thor, along with the ensuing conversation between him, Percy and Annabeth, Peter had been forced to watch from far away on the roof of an apartment building at the edge of Central Park. He had been afraid that, had he been any closer, Thor would've sensed him some way or another. That was the last thing he needed—the Avengers discovering who he was. He wanted to keep his identity a secret for now, at the very least. So, for now, all he knew was that Percy knew how to handle a sword and may or may not have powers. Also, whatever conflict had existed between Thor, and Percy and Annabeth was resolved, judging by the talking and handshaking that had occurred.

"About . . . ?" Tony raised an eyebrow at him as he drifted off.

"Uh, about my suit," Peter stumbled over his words. "It's a little tight . . ." he pulled on the smooth, strong fabric self-consciously for a moment. "But it's great," he said quickly. "Totally awesome, Mr. Stark."

"Trust me, the girls will love it." Tony said.

"G-girls?"

Tony shook his head to himself. Poor kid. Completely oblivious to how he looked to others. Stretched out on the couch, one easily noticed his well-accented muscles and slender limbs—the perfect body of a gymnast or acrobat.

"Don't worry about it, kid. You'll get used to it." Tony rubbed his eyes, yawning. "I need to turn in, and so do you—you've got homework and tests, don't you? Come back tomorrow—or later today, and we'll see if we can develop some synthetic webbing that's even better than what you've got now."

"Uh, okay." Peter got up from the couch, heading back to the landing pad. "Night, Mr. Stark."

"Night." Tony waved to him vaguely before turning around and starting in the direction of his bedroom, staggering slightly in his steps.

Peter gave one last glance back before leaping from the Tower and discreetly swinging back to his apartment, the spotlights of the NYPD shining far below him as people continued picking up the dead birds that littered the streets of the city.

* * *

By the time Percy woke up, he had missed both morning call and breakfast and the camp was well in the middle of its late Wednesday morning activities.

However, as he made his way to the mess hall pavilion, preparing to plead with the morning wood nymphs to spare him some bread and eggs, he quickly realized that his growling stomach was the least of his worries.

First, it was the two naiads gossiping on the bank of the stream. He only overheard a few words, but it was enough to crinkle his brow.

"Who's Tony Stark?" One naiad asked as she braided her hair.

"Maybe it's Tony Shark," the other naiad said, a dreamy look coming over her face.

Her friend nearly swooned, forgetting entirely about her braid. "Once, I met a great white—he was _so_ handsome . . . could swallow a hundred fish in one bite . . ."

Percy gagged.

Dating preferences aside, however, how did the naiads in camp even know Tony's name? They never cared for mortal matters. His suspicions only grew when he passed by a group of Apollo kids competing in a friendly archery match.

"Hey, Percy, send Tony Stark my regards, will you?" Sasha yelled after him. Percy had a feeling that it wasn't a mistake that she was giving him the bird.

Halfway to the pavilion, Percy was accosted by so many people that he soon stopped and took a sharp left, quickly heading back towards the cabins. Soon, he was knocking on a grey door, staring defiantly at the owl carving that was looking down upon him distastefully.

There were a few seconds of muffled footsteps, and then Annabeth opened the door.

"Annabeth—"

Before Percy could say anymore, his girlfriend had pulled him into the cabin and closed the door behind him. Percy barely spared a glance at the library or the workshops littered with blueprints and scrolls, too busy with the slightly anxious look on Annabeth's face.

"I know, I know, I know." Annabeth tapped her Yankees cap against her leg incessantly. "The whole camp—"

"—Knows that we went to the Avengers Tower yesterday." Percy guessed. He ignored the curious glances of two Athena kids working at a bench nearby. He also ignored Screech as she clacked her beak at him from her high bookshelf perch.

"They know that we know Tony Stark." Annabeth added, irritated. She said it as if it were a bad thing.

And judging by some of the comments Percy had already received that morning, it _was_ a bad thing.

Percy ran a hand through his hair, Annabeth's nervous energy rubbing off on him. "I don't know how they could have found out—I didn't tell anyone except Chiron . . ." Realization dawned on his face and he locked eyes with Annabeth.

. . .

"LEO!" Annabeth banged on the door again, clearly annoyed now. "If you don't come out in the next—"

The door swung open and Leo's eyes widened as he caught the sight of the two of them.

"I thought I heard something!" He exclaimed. "I thought you might have been Calypso—" he dropped his voice. "I might have taken some of her flowers for something I'm making—probably wasn't the smartest idea in hindsight . . ." he stepped out of Bunker Nine, closing the door behind him with a resounding boom. He brushed off some imaginary dust from his work shirt, only managing to smear more engine oil across the once-white fabric. "How can Uncle Leo help you kids today?"

The death stare that Annabeth gave Leo was nearly enough to wipe the grin off his face. "You can start by explaining how you find out that we met Tony Stark yesterday."

Leo rubbed the back of his head. "Uh well, you know, a respectable man can't reveal his sources . . ."

" _Leo._ " Annabeth said warningly.

Leo relented. "Okay, Travis _might_ , key word being 'might', have overheard Percy's conversation with Chiron yesterday. When you were telling him about taking Annabeth to the Avengers Tower."

Percy looked ticked. " _He spied on us?_ "

"I said _overheard_." Leo shook his head. "Jeez, you guys need to loosen up a little. It's not even noon yet!"

Annabeth's eyes flared. "You want me to 'loosen up' when the whole camp is talking about our meeting with Tony?"

Leo blinked. "The whole camp knows? I didn't know that—I've been in the Bunker since last night, keeping my head low so that Clarisse doesn't cut it off." Leo suddenly looked sheepish. "But I might have mentioned something to Lily yesterday afternoon . . ."

" _You told Lily?_ "

Lily, a 16 year old Japanese girl in the Hephaestus cabin who made some of the best daggers in the camp, spread gossip and rumours to the point where she could put some of the Aphrodite kids to shame.

"Oh gods . . ." Annabeth whipped around, stalking away. Percy hurried after her. "We need to do damage control," she muttered.

"Hey, I don't think it's that bad, Annabeth."

. . .

Oh, how Percy wished that were true.

By the afternoon, the apocalyptic bird event was old news and all anyone could talk about was Tony Stark and, by extension, the Avengers. Anybody who hadn't known of them before learned quickly enough, and soon developed their own thoughts on the matter. Percy had known that there were mixed opinions about the group, but what he hadn't realized was how strongly the opinions were felt, and how polarizing they were turning out to be. Despite his and Annabeth's well respected standings in the camp, Percy found himself on the receiving end of more than one threatening or angry glare. Others rushed towards him and demanded that he organize a meeting between them and Tony, clearly fans. And of course, there were _other_ others—people who just didn't care one way or another.

So when he heard someone call his name from somewhere to his right, he turned on his heel and snapped, "Wh—" The rest of his words died away.

"Um, bad timing?" Hazel asked in the frame of the Iris-message.

Percy rubbed his face. "No, sorry, just a long day."

Hazel nodded empathetically before she looked at him curiously. "Is it true . . . that you met Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers?"

"Yeah," Percy sighed. He'd also gotten a text from Tony early in the morning telling him not to worry about his fall from the Tower—all of the photos that had been taken of him were of low quality, and no one would be able to identify him in any of them. Percy could barely read the text, only stare at the phone. Here he was, sitting in his cabin, the Poseidon cabin, receiving texts from the man known as Tony Stark. It was a realization that he was now well-immersed in both the mortal and immortal worlds—two entirely different global communities that, unfortunately for him, were beginning to clash.

Hazel winced. "Sorry, you've probably been asked that a lot today. I just wanted to tell you: one of our eagles spotted another Spartus this morning—a few miles west of our camp."

"And it was like the others—just wandering around?" Percy asked.

Hazel nodded. "As far as he could tell, yes."

"Alright, I'll talk to Nico now, see if he knows anything."

"Thank you." Hazel smiled warmly. "I wanted to IM him, but I know he's been spending a lot of time with Will lately, and I didn't know when would be the best time to talk to him."

Percy nodded. "I'll let you know what he says."

Hazel returned his nod, terminating the Iris-message.

* * *

Tony Stark.

Hazel supposed that she only became interested in the billionaire after finding out that he was the son of Howard Stark, the famous pioneer of various forms of advanced technology and the founder of Stark Industries. Admittedly, in her first life, she'd had a small crush on the man, even though he had been 11 years her senior—but then again, who hadn't been charmed by his good looks and alluring intelligence? Jealous men dogged his steps while women swooned at the sight of him.

After being revived by Nico and finding herself in an entirely different century, she'd soon learned that the inventor had been killed in 1991. Then she'd learned that he'd had a son, Anthony Stark, and soon after that, she discovered the existence of the Avengers.

Having only recently found out about the team of superheroes, Hazel was rather neutral on the topic of their impact upon the world. However, hearing the news about Tony Stark, listening to the rumours and following his successes and failures as a mildly interested individual, she found herself to be . . . not disappointed, but pitying of the billionaire. Hazel knew a lot about second chances—she herself was the very embodiment of one. So when she looked at Stark, she saw a man searching for his own second chance to amend his past failures and crimes. Crimes as a weapons manufacturer who destroyed innocent lives in the name of national security. As a man who was as quick to shoot off a retort or spark a witty comment as he was slow to consider the consequences beyond the immediate repercussions. As an inventor who worked to achieve one goal, _a suit of armour around the world_ , only to have to work to destroy that same creation before it annihilated humanity. Tony Stark was a man searching for a second chance, but what he didn't realize was that he had expended it years ago.

Hazel pitied him, because even if someone were to tell him that to his face, he would hear the words, but he wouldn't listen to them. He wouldn't notice that his life was filled with synthetic second chances because the universe had long ago stopped giving him do-overs.

His support for government oversight was enlightening to anyone who paid enough attention. Tony Stark felt guilty. And Hazel couldn't imagine what it would do to the Avengers, because if she remembered anything about Steve Rogers from all the time that she had sat next to the old radio in her room, breathing in the cool air of Alaska, it was that he didn't do very well under authority.

Yet another man that she had looked up to in her first life, Steve Rogers was a less known figure to Hazel, if only because she died shortly after his rise to fame. After being revived, she'd been utterly shocked to learn that he was alive, and no less older then when she had first thwarted Gaea's plans. Here was another person, lost in time, not quite belonging in the modern crowds of the 21st century. It would be interesting to see what he did with his second chance.

"Hazel!" Frank called, running up to her. "Dakota caught Arion eating weapons in the armoury again."

Hazel sighed, but followed on his heels.

* * *

 **I know many of you are busy, but try to leave a review, please? Even if it's to point out a single problem, or provide a sole thought. And constructive criticism is welcome! Wow, it's been a long time since I said that. Remember, the goal is 300 :) (It's a little ambitious, I know, but I just thought I'd try and see what happens).**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Reponses to Reviews:**

 **OffTheGrid26 (Guest; June 2** **nd** **):** _I don't know why, but your review just made me really happy. "Keep on keeping on". Thank you_ **!**

 **OverratedPendragon:** _I still have a lot of research to do on Ragnarok and how Marvel treats it, but expect to see many new faces ;)_

 **Aqila:** _Yup, too much of a coincidence ;) Thank you so much for the understanding—no one has ever said that before, and it was very touching—thank you! And Screech . . . well, we'll see where she goes ;)_

 **Matt (Guest; June 3** **rd** **):** _'Ghost King" . . . ? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to, but it's Thanos who is looking for the Stones. And yes, Peter is referring to Peter Parker—I completely forgot to include his last name in his first POV, sorry about that._

 **Ryuko monogatari:** _When I read the first few words of your review, I just burst out laughing. Thank you for the info! I actually didn't know that, but clearly I need to do some more research that means, so thank you for the heads up! And thank you so much for the compliment—definitely made my day :)_

 **Minjad:** _We'll see ;) Fellow Canadian, that's awesome!_

 **limegreenarcher:** _Oh, lol, my bad—sorry! And thank you!_

 **sbayless44:** _Thank you!_

 **Anonymous (Guest; June 3** **rd** **):** _LOL, I hope you liked the movie! Cross my heart, your secret is safe with me ;)_

 **AACM25:** _I'm aware of what karpoi are, which was why I was rather confused—the skeleton warriors and the karpoi are two very different creatures . . . I have yet to read the oracle yet, unfortunately—hopefully soon!_

 **TheAdaptableWriter:** _No worries! Totally understand—everyone's got a life outside of Fanfiction, and it can't put itself on hold, you know? And thank you!_

 **Possibly (Guest; June 5):** _Kinda wish you had a Fanfiction account so I could send a PM, because I'm pretty much prepared to write boatloads lol, but nevertheless, I hope you find my answer useful! **Oh my goodness,**_ I just realized that I posted the chapter without forming an answer to your question - is it okay if I give you my answer next chapter? I'm so sorry!

 **aesir21:** _Thank you for all the reviews—I appreciate very much that you left one for each chapter, so few people do that . . . Please, keep it up! :)_

 **Canadiancolds:** _Thank you! Oh, lol, sorry for all the misunderstanding, still haven't read oracle yet . . . hopefully soon!_


	17. Treason

**Okay, so . . . lots to say.**

 **First off, I'd like to thank Sinisterclown13, author of** ** _Olympian Legend_** **, for giving me a shout out in their most recently posted chapter. If you've yet to read their story, check it out—the writing is fantastic.**

 **So, I had a goal of 300 reviews, and we went over it! I was ecstatic when I found out—you guys are awesome! I loved reading all of them, and it was great to see the new faces (or rather, usernames)!**

 **Allergies are a little better, and hopefully it continues that way.**

 **It's been brought to my attention by Pencilfingers about a punctuation problem I have; you may have noticed that I love using the dash. However, as Pencilfingers correctly pointed out, it is often more appropriate to use the semi-colon, or some other punctuation mark. Taking this into account, I will try to "phase out the dash".**

 **And lastly, per request of sidkush32 (sorry I left out the dot in your username; the format didn't accept it, for some reason), I'll give a little synopsis of what happened previously before each chapter, considering that details can become forgotten or a little skewed because many of you are following several stories with similar elements.**

 ** _Previously, on TIW:DIS . . ._**

 ** _Vision has a moderately lengthed POV that reveals his discovery of emotions, the disparity between the information he learns from the World Wide Web and what he learns directly through his senses and from those around him, and the ultimate fact that his own character is changing as a consequence of his time among humans._**

 ** _The conflict between Tony and Steve continues to grow, with Tony introducing the first of the Sharpe family, Damian Sharpe, a young boy who was killed in Sokovia during the battle with Ultron._**

 ** _Fury and Tony have a short conversation, in which Fury first becomes aware of the conflict between Tony and Steve. Fury leaves the Tower to return to the Avengers compound, feeling rather suspicious of Percy Jackson and recognizing that Tony must be covering for someone, because it wasn't him that gave the ill-timed sneeze._**

 ** _Percy wakes up late in the morning to find the entire camp talking about Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers. He and Annabeth visit Leo to find that the son of Hephaestus learned of their meeting with Tony through Travis, who eavesdropped on one of Percy and Chiron's conversations. They also learn that Leo then told this information to his half-sister Lily, a well-known forger of daggers and gossip._**

 ** _Hazel and Percy have a short conversation through Iris-messaging, with Hazel reporting that another spartus has been spotted. Percy ends up telling her that he will talk to Nico._**

 ** _The chapter ends with Hazel's POV, in which she sheds light on her knowledge regarding Howard Stark and the Avengers, and reveals her thoughts concerning Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, the former of whom she believes is fruitlessly searching for yet another second chance._**

 **That may have been a little long . . . let me know what you think!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Treason**

 _"Alright, I'll talk to Nico now, see if he knows anything."_

 _"Thank you." Hazel smiled warmly. "I wanted to IM him, but I know he's been spending a lot of time with Will lately, and I didn't know when would be the best time to talk to him."_

 _Percy nodded. "I'll let you know what he says."_

 _Hazel returned his nod, terminating the Iris-message._

Percy found Nico at his usual hangout: the infirmary. Over the past year, as the son of Hades developed closer relations with Will, he became a familiar sight among the injured. He pointed healers to those suffering from more severe wounds and even picked up enough knowledge from shadowing Will that he began to help treating patients.

At the moment, Nico was tending to a disgruntled Ares kid with a broken arm.

"He threw the first punch," the 8 year old muttered.

"Yeah, I heard the first ten times you said it," Nico shook his head, tightening the cast over the magical salve he had smoothed over the wound earlier.

The young girl sniffed. "You know, my daddy is the god of war—if you keep being rude to me, he's gonna come teach you a lesson, while you're _sleeping_ ," she whispered, glaring daggers at Nico.

Nico looked like he wanted to laugh, but laughing at the gods was not the smartest decision to make. "Okay, sure."

"He's got knives, guns—swords that are way better than yours," she boasted.

"What, this?" He drew his Stygian Iron blade and immediately, despite the warm, summery air and bright rays of morning sun, the shadows in the infirmary seemed to lengthen as the atmosphere dampened and became gloomy.

The Ares girl's mouth twitched. "Okay, that's pretty cool," she admitted. "But my daddy's still better!"

"Threatening patients again?" Percy grinned, walking up to the pair of them.

Nico looked around and spotted him, putting away his sword. "She threatened me first."

"Tattle-tale," she muttered.

Nico rolled his eyes. "Go, get out of here. And watch that arm, before you break it for a fourth time!" He called after her as she dashed out of the room.

"You're not my mom!" She shouted in response. As she passed by Percy, he heard her say, _"Thank the gods"_ , and then she was gone.

"Fourth time? I thought that was Irene's third, not fourth," Percy said.

Nico shook his head. "Hairline fracture yesterday morning, after another brawl. She's thrown more punches than she can count." He put away the container of salve, tidying up the medicinal closet in the corner of the room. "You want to talk about something?"

"Yeah, something's going on at Camp Jupiter." Percy said. He explained the sightings of the spartus, telling Nico of the conversation he'd had last night. "And another one was spotted this morning." He finished.

Nico stopped pacing back and forth, looking troubled. "Are you sure they were just 'wandering'? They weren't actually _doing_ anything?"

Percy shrugged. "That's what Hazel and Frank said. I was hoping you could find out more, maybe talk to your dad . . . ?" He drifted off, not knowing what reaction to expect; he wasn't sure how relations were between Nico and Hades nowadays.

Nico grimaced. "Yeah, sure."

"Not doing too well between you guys?" Percy guessed.

"Yeah well, you can imagine how my father reacted when I told him my boyfriend was Will Solace." Nico assumed a cold, hard look that still managed to send chills down Percy's spine, despite the fact that he knew he wasn't glaring at him. " _'A son of Apollo? The god of the sun? Why not a child of Hecate, or Hypnos? I hear that his children are sound sleepers.'_ " Nico snorted, shaking his head. "It's not like Will snores. Not that I would know," he added quickly, turning a beet red.

Percy grinned. "Don't worry, man. I won't breathe a word to anyone."

Nico rolled his eyes and Percy laughed, finally enjoying someone's company for the first time today. Things had gotten significantly better between him and the son of Hades ever since he came out and started hanging out with Will. It was as if a small spark of Will's boundless charm and light had found its way into Nico, transforming him into a different person—a better person. Even his tan was beginning to challenge Percy's sun-darkened complexion.

Nico rubbed his eyes. "I'll go talk to my father, see if anything's going on in the Underworld."

"Thanks." Percy suddenly remembered the other thing he wanted to talk to Nico about. "Also, do you know anything about the birds, and what happened to them? Hazel said that they lost two eagles yesterday."

Nico shook his head. "No idea. It was weird—like their lives had been cut too short, too abruptly. I guess I should ask Father about that, as well," He sighed. "I'd better tell Will before I go. Hopefully, I'll be back before dinner, and you can tell me how you met Tony Stark."

Percy groaned. "You too?"

Nico turned slightly to look Percy in the eyes. "You need to be careful, Percy. Some of the people that Tony Stark hangs out with aren't entirely mortal; they could see right through the Mist. I can't imagine the gods being too happy about that."

"Yeah, they aren't," Percy muttered, thinking back to his talk with his dad, and Annabeth's conversation with Athena. Considering how everyone was reacting, it was fortunate that everyone thought that he and Annabeth had only met up with Tony, and not the entire team of the Avengers.

Nico gave him a final look before leaving the infirmary.

. . .

For the rest of the day, Percy was bombarded with questions about Tony. During his sword fighting lesson was no exception. By the time he was finished, he was more than a tad annoyed and looking forward to some question-free time with Annabeth.

"Percy!"

He turned to see Jason entering the arena and jogging towards him.

"Hey man, what's up?" Percy grinned, then swung Riptide. "Looking for a friendly spar?"

"Nah, man, not today. I have a class to teach." The frame of Jason's celestial bronze glasses glinted beneath the sun. "Is it true, about—"

"Yes," Percy talked over him, annoyed now. "I met him."

". . . the eagles," Jason drifted off, looking confused.

"Oh." Percy rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. It's just, so many people have been asking about Tony, it's really getting on my nerves."

"That's understandable," Jason sympathized.

"Tony Stark is evil," someone said.

Percy turned to see Irene. She was most likely here for Jason's class.

"The Avengers are evil," she continued, unblinking.

"Why would you say that?" Percy asked, slightly irritated.

"Everyone says that they kill people." Irene responded simply.

Percy frowned, wondering exactly who "everyone" was. "Tony, and the rest of the Avengers, aren't evil. They don't kill . . . they kill bad guys, like us with monsters." Percy said finally, trying not to sound too defensive.

It was ironic that, just over a week ago, while meeting Tony for the first time, Percy had felt a similar way. The Avengers had good intentions, but rather destructive ways in showing them. But after getting to know Tony and the Avengers, and ever since his discussion with Thor last night, Percy had realized something: the demigods weren't that different from the Avengers, in some respects. People died when they tried to save the world, as well. Like in the Second Titan War, during the Battle of Manhattan against Kronos; over two dozen people died from various incidents across the city while under the sleeping spell. Gas explosions from unattended stoves, muggings, smoke inhalation, fires . . . Even though Morpheus was principally responsible for their deaths, Percy felt that demigods still had a hand in it simply through association. And even on their most dangerous quests, the Mist and the often remote locations of their journeys helped to reduce potential deaths. The Avengers, on the other hand, didn't have anything even similar to the Mist, and their enemies frequented the mortal world far more often.

So yes, the death toll that followed the steps of the Avengers was far higher, but you know what? They were all trying to make do with what they had, and that was the best anybody could ask for.

"But—"

"Irene, that's enough," Jason said sternly. The daughter of Ares pouted, but skipped off to chat with someone else in the arena. Jason turned back to Percy. "Anyways, I was wondering about the birds. I was just talking to Nico—is it true that Camp Jupiter lost two eagles yesterday?"

"Yeah." Percy capped Riptide, tucking the pen into his pocket.

Jason shook his head, as if unable to wrap his mind around it. "I need to go over there, see if the rest of them are okay."

Percy was reminded that Jason shared a rather special connection with the eagles of the camp; he had, after all, resided there for 12 years. It was no surprise for a son of Jupiter to develop a strong relationship with one of his father's most well-known symbols.

"I need to see how the shrine for Kymopoleia is coming along, anyways." Jason added.

Percy nodded.

Ever since he'd been appointed _Pontifex Maximus_ , Jason had been working tirelessly to ensure that all the gods in both the Greek and Roman pantheons were properly honoured. The area in Camp Half-Blood that was devoted to cabins had been repeatedly expanded over the past year as more and more gods were added, and nearly a dozen additional shrines and temples had already been built in Camp Jupiter.

"You should go now—I'll teach your class," Percy offered.

"Really? Aw, man, thanks." Jason clapped him on the back before jogging off.

"You owe me one!" Percy called after him, grinning.

"Definitely!" Jason threw over his shoulder, before he rounded the corner of the arena and out of sight.

* * *

Jason made his way to the stables, making sure to grab a handful of sugar cubes on his way there.

 _Tony, and the rest of the Avengers, aren't evil_.

That's what Percy had said. And Jason agreed—they weren't evil. They were irresponsible. Jason had learned a few things while at Camp Jupiter, and one of them was: with great power, comes great responsibility. As a son of Jupiter who was also praetor, Jason had had not only the support and approval of the majority of the legion, but he'd also had the ability to decide the entire fate of the Twelfth Legion, Rome's remaining army. An army with roots that extended back centuries, and that had blossomed into an entire civilization that sprawled across San Francisco Bay. He'd had to think and act based on not what he considered to be correct and justified, but what the legion dictated to be right. What the gods considered to be proper.

Clearly, the Avengers hadn't gotten the memo. That was most clearly seen with the Ultron Offensive—and yes, Jason knew exactly what that was. After the Second Giant War, he'd quickly become informed on the Avengers latest enemy, continuing his monitoring of the superheroes as he had ever since the Avengers were first assembled. Learning that Tony Stark had in fact created Ultron, and how the had team had gallivanted about the globe in a destructive quest to stop the AI . . . Jason was, in a way, appalled. One action after another, the death toll had risen and the devastation had spread.

Jason recognized that there was no Mist to muffle the senses and perhaps protect the ignorant bystander. And he recognized that the Avengers faced criticism like demigods never would, by account of the media. But that didn't justify death and destruction.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.

The Avengers had power, and Jason readily admitted that they possessed responsibility.

They just didn't have enough.

A few minutes later, Jason had convinced Guido to give him a ride (Tempest, a storm spirit who Jason first befriended at the Wolf House, didn't always come when summoned), and soon they were up in the air, heading for California.

* * *

By nightfall, Percy and Annabeth had had a discussion with Chiron about their continued relations with Tony Stark. They told the centaur how they not only met the billionaire, but the Avengers as well.

Chiron wasn't happy. "Percy, you assured me that you were only going to the city to meet Tony Stark."

Percy had sighed. "I know, I'm sorry—I honestly didn't know that they would all be there. I was just told it would be a party, that's it."

Chiron paced back and forth, wearing down the old floorboards of the Big House. They weren't too worried; with all the renovations that had been going on, Annabeth was making plans to rebuild the Big House—not necessarily tear it down, but perhaps expand some rooms, make an additional wing.

"If both Poseidon and Athena are giving you warnings, it would be unwise to ignore them; those two rarely agree on any issue." Chiron stopped pacing to look at both Percy and Annabeth. "You must end relations with Tony Stark, and the rest of the Avengers."

Percy didn't say anything, but Annabeth nodded. "We know."

Looking back at it now as she lay in her bed in the Athena cabin, Annabeth thought that it was fortunate that they had conveniently forgotten to tell Chiron about Percy's panic attack; there was no point in worrying him. They had, however, told Will about it earlier. He wasn't too concerned; it was Percy's first of the month, and their evening therapy session had finished without a single problem. Annabeth didn't think she would have ever said this, but the PTSD was doing good.

Well, she supposed she couldn't call it PTSD. Demigods were already paranoid by nature, and nightmares came just as often as dreams. Perhaps . . . Demigod PTSD? In all honesty, she wasn't quite sure what they had. Traumatic experiences . . . everything that triggered bad memories or asthma attacks had something to do with Tartarus, and she wasn't just referring to the Pit or the landscape—she meant _Tartarus_ , the primordial. She had a feeling that that's what made their memories of hell so terrible—everything connected back to that tall, dark being with a shifting face. It raised goosebumps across her skin just thinking about him.

But considering that today's session had happened without a hitch, things should have been looking up—if not for the fact that tomorrow, she and Percy would be going to the studio to tell Tony that Percy couldn't teach him anymore, and that she couldn't take the job at Stark Industries HQ.

And of course, what Thor had said about their gods kept repeating in her head, like a whisper that refused to be quieted.

 _"All you half-bloods are servants to the gods—bastards of infidelity and lies."_

There weren't many ways to describe how she felt at the moment, so she borrowed one of her half brothers' favorite phrases.

Life sucks.

* * *

Grover listened to the quiet murmur of the dryads around him, calmed by the soft rustle of their leaves and branches. If there was one place in New York City that he didn't mind visiting often, it was Central Park. It was nothing like the Wild, but it was the closest this city had.

Unfortunately, the rank smell of dead birds still contaminated the air. He and a dozen other satyrs had been working nonstop since last night, collecting the bodies of birds and answering the complaints and needs of the resident dryads. He was the only member of the Council of Cloven Elders present; all the others had complained of sore backs and chipped hooves.

Grover didn't forget how they all ran for enchiladas an hour later.

"Grover Underwood."

Grover blinked, shaken out of his thoughts, and nearly took a step back in surprise. He then overcame his shock and dipped his head in deep respect. "Querci."

The tall oak nymph looked at him with piercing golden eyes, and Grover resisted an urge to tuck tail and run. The older dryads of Central Park rarely woke up for matters of any kind; it was just Grover's luck that the oldest dryad in residence had not only woken from her slumber, but had chosen to speak to him.

"I would like to lodge a complaint."

Grover nearly sighed in relief. Thanks the gods. He'd been afraid that the dryad was looking to ask a favour of him; some of the tasks the tree nymphs wished to be completed were outrageously difficult or petty in nature. On the other hand, some of the complaints that had been brought forth to him as a Cloven Elder had been nothing short of ridiculous. Blueberry bushes fighting over a bachelor, territorial claims . . . Grover could only hope that Querci was unlike her sister dryads in those respects.

"On what grounds?" Grover asked. This was the traditional question that a Cloven Elder gave in response to the presentation of a complaint.

Querci's elfish face hardened. "Grounds of treason."

Grover stuttered in his shock, forgetting entirely about tradition. "A-against who?"

"Perseus Jackson and Annabeth Chase."

* * *

 _Recap: Loki determines that it is only the Infinity Stones that can stop Ragnarök in its tracks, and goes to Vanaheim to seek out Frey, leaving behind an illusion of Odin in his chambers to allay suspicion. In an entirely different matter, Volstagg is angry and guilt-ridden, and in his belief that Frey used dark magic to incapacitate him and his friends, he goes to Vanaheim to confront the old warrior._

 _. . ._

There were many passages out of Asgard; you simply had to know where to look. Just as there was a hidden channel to the Dark World, there was a hidden channel to Vanaheim. And so, instead of using the Bifrost and raising suspicions as to why the All-Father was travelling to Vanaheim (alone, nonetheless), Loki used one of these secrets routes, which were known to but a few.

Having arrived in Vanaheim in the late day, Loki found Frey in the mountains easy enough; the recluse certainly wasn't hiding when he came across him roasting several hares by the mouth of a cave. Gullinbursti the golden boar raised his head upon seeing him, and gave a warning grunt.

"Loki Silvertongue." Frey did not look up from the fire, nor did he stand. "Risen from the dead, I see."

Loki drew one of his daggers, inspecting it absently. "I never died."

Frey finally tilted his head up to frown at the trickster with his black, black eyes. "It appears that the Norns have denied me justice. They would take away my dear friends, the Dark Elves, but refuse to send Thor's beloved brother to Hel."

Loki suppressed an urge to argue that he was not 'Thor's _beloved_ brother'. "I've come in search of something." He paused, but Frey didn't speak. "Thor said that you sensed one of the Infinity Stones located far from here, outside of the Nine Realms."

"You are seeking the Stones?" Frey's expression revealed nothing. "Why should I help you?"

"Because your very life depends on it." Loki smiled. "The Norns prophecize that you will die during Ragnarök, yes? What a pity."

Frey seemed to become as still as stone. When he finally spoke, it was in the quietest of voices. "You killed Odin." He rose slowly. "That is why Yggdrasil has been in such astir; you started the End."

"Yes, yes," Loki said with a bored expression, twirling his dagger. "That is why I seek the Stones. They are the only way I can stop Ragnarök." He looked straight into Frey's black eyes, his careless mood falling away. "You know there exists a greater threat; the Nine Realms must remain standing to meet it."

Frey laughed. "This is not about the 'greater threat'—you wish to right a wrong. Perhaps regain a brother's love?"

Loki's face flushed with anger, and his grasp on his dagger tightened. "You wouldn't understand."

"No? Perhaps—"

"Will you help or not?"

Frey tilted his head. "I was unable to locate the Stone the first time; whyever would you think I could find it with a second attempt?"

Loki smiled, baring his teeth. "Why, because of me, of course."

. . .

Nighttime fell quickly enough, and soon, Loki and Frey stood a foot's breadth away from each other.

"It will be curious," Frey started, "to see the magic of the Dark Elves and that of Loki Silvertongue, working in harmony."

Loki ignored him. "Begin your songs, Frey. I will join when I see fit."

The old warrior gave a quiet smile. "Be on guard, trickster. The songs of the Dark Elves are potent."

"So I've heard." Loki muttered.

Frey raised his hands and Gullinbursti gave a sonorous cry. Then the words began. They weaved themselves through the air and settled upon the cold wind, reverberating with a sorrowful ache that was dark and grievous. They filled the cloudless night with cries and whispers, pushing out the stars with impenetrable shadows.

Loki staggered back, feeling as if his heart were being wrenched out of his chest. Memories surfaced from the murky swamps of his mind, growing huge and terrible in his eyes. _Thor was holding him, holding him in his arms in the barren landscape of the Dark World, and all he could say was, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." . . . The news of Mother's death, the final glimpses of her still body, a hand that had once held his with such love and care . . . Odin's regretful gaze as he kneeled before him, tired and exhausted . . ._

"The Stones," Loki audibly gasped, struggling to keep his hold on reality. His magic exploded out from him in a bright emerald light that quickly danced and weaved upwards, winding itself around Frey's dark magic.

 _"Be strong, Loki Odinson,"_ Frey spoke to him in a booming voice that seemed to reverberate in his mind.

They were getting closer to the Stone. . . Loki could feel their magic, a throbbing hand of black and emerald, stretching through huge expanses of time and space, getting ever closer . . . But no, there was someone, someone had noticed them. They were coming closer, closer, Loki could sense the terrible, blackened mind—

 _"You dare seek the Stones, boy?"_

The words raked themselves across his vulnerable mind, leaving only pain. Loki felt inexplicable fear and instinct took over. He needed to get out, now, before it was too late, get out now now now NOW—

Loki gasped, sucking in cold air. The stars twinkled above him, offering no comfort. Beneath him, gritty sand and stones stabbed into his back.

He felt tired, so tired. And so he closed his eyes, and fell into a restless slumber.

* * *

Volstagg sat back on his heels, shocked wordless by everything he had just learned.

 _What in Hel's name just happened?_

* * *

 **Thoughts? Questions? Goal: 330 Reviews :) Constructive criticism is welcome.**

 **I responded to the majority of the last chapter's reviews by PMs, so . . . yup.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Mortal Gods:** _Can I PM you? I don't want to leave around any clues ;)_ **  
**

 **Matt (Guest; June 9th):** _I'm well aware that Ghost King is one of Nico's nicknames; I simply thought I made it quite clear that it was Thanos who was searching for the Infinity Stones, and as a consequence, I thought you were attempting to refer to Thanos as the "Ghost King", which was a nickname that I was not aware the Mad Titan had._

 **cool panther:** _Thank you! Your review was gratifying to read. Hmm, so starting a story . . . Pick the plot you like best, or that you would feel most comfortable writing. It's up to you if you want to create a blueprint or 'road map' for your story and perhaps write several chapters in advance, or if you just want to 'go with the flow' and alternate between writing and posting chapters. One thing that's fantastic about Fanfiction is that you have reviews, and oftentimes, the things that reviewers point out or suggest are actually very good ideas that you might want to integrate into your story. If you're planning to write on Fanfiction, I would suggest (and this is simply a suggestion, nothing more) that you have a general idea as to where you want your story to go, but leave the plot flexible enough so that you can add and integrate new ideas as the story progresses and you receive reviews. Also, research is also something you might want to do - fandoms like the Avengers or Percy Jackson often require research into the comics or into mythology, and research helps to make your scenes more realistic and engaging. Originality is something that I feel like I should stress; Fanfiction often has a lot of repeating plots, general structures, or common scenes that have been highly overdone and that you might wish to avoid. Fanfiction is about taking something that already exists, and putting your own spin on it. It's also a place for people to pick up writing skills and receive constructive criticism in an atmosphere that encourages growth and the development of a creative mind. So don't be afraid to accept criticism, and don't be afraid to go beyond what the author has already introduced in their own universe. Sorry, kind of rambled there; if you have any other questions, feel free to ask me - I'm always happy to help :)_

 **Guest (Guest; June 14th):** _Thank you! And I promise I will never abandon this story; and I hope to never disappoint._


	18. New Acquaintances

**So, this chapter is a little shorter because I'm using it to make some key connections and build bridges for the next chapter.**

 _Previously, on TIW:DIS . . ._

 _Percy speaks to Nico about the wayward spartus, along with the bird apocalypse. Nico agrees to go visit his father and ask if he knows anything about the events, and to see if there is any suspicious activity in the Underworld._

 _Afterwards, Percy meets Jason, who quickly decides to pay a visit to Camp Jupiter, driven by his concern for the giant eagles and also to see the building progress on the shrines and temples in the camp._

 _Jason provides his personal views on the Avengers, whom he believes to be irresponsible._

 _Percy and Annabeth confess to Chiron that they met all the Avengers, and the centaur advises them that it would be best not to ignore the gods; they must end their relationship with Tony and his friends._

 _Querci confronts Grover, levelling a serious accusation against Percy and Annabeth._

 _Loki travels under secrecy to Vanaheim, where he meets Frey and asks for his help in his search for the Stones. Frey agrees to aid him, and he and Loki use their magic in unison, only for someone else to discover their presence. Loki falls unconscious. All the while, Volstagg looks on, unknown to both Frey and Loki._

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **New Acquaintances**

Loki awoke to find his hands and legs bound. Upon looking around, he discovered that Frey was awake and similarly trussed up. It was early morning, with the sun just beginning to rise and cast vibrant orange and pink streaks across Vanaheim's sky. They were on a plateau, still high up in the mountains—in fact, it appeared that they hadn't moved from their spot beside Frey's cave. And just a few paces away was a crackling fire, cooked hares, and a heavily bearded man.

"And the king awakes!" Volstagg roars, tossing aside a drumstick and staggering to his feet. The overwhelming stench of ale and sweat washed over Loki. "For you are the king, are you not?" The warrior lumbered towards him, swinging his axe haphazardly. "You killed the All-Father and have sat upon his throne for more than two years, and now—" Volstagg gave a laugh. "Now, Ragnarök descends upon us all to wash the Realms in its pain and gory!"

"My dear Volstagg—you appear rather unwell," Loki cocked his head, giving a faint smile.

"He is as well as can be; his judgment is simply clouded," Frey said from Volstagg's other side. He looked rather comfortable despite the ropes encircling his wrists and legs, as if he cared not if he were free or bound.

"Because of your black magic!" Volstagg snarled, whirling around to point his axe threateningly at the giant old warrior. "I know you are working with whomever is searching for the Stones—you tried to stop us, tried to halt our search by toying with our minds!"

Frey was unimpressed. "I did nothing of the sort. The songs of the Dark Elves are powerful on their own—they will reveal your darkest secrets, your deepest thoughts. It is these that have debilitating effects, if you allow yourself to be weakened by them. You—"

"ENOUGH!" Volstagg roared, his face turning beet red with anger. "Enough of your riddles and your twisted words—I know what you and the trickster are attempting! You are searching for the Stones, so that you may rule over the Nine Realms and make us all your subjects—" He stopped with a strangled gasp as a dagger was shoved beneath his throat and the blade bit into his skin.

"Yes, I search for the Stones," Loki said from behind him, his voice breathing faintly into his ear. "And once I find them, I will stop Ragnarök, and afterwards, I will finally be able to reveal my identity. And if the Nine Realms decide to raise me upon their shields as their King, then so be it—I will gladly accept, and serve as the greatest All-Father that the annals will have ever recorded." He paused, slipping the axe out of Volstagg's slack fingers and lowering his dagger. He walked around to face the bearded man, looking at him critically. "But, it appears I have a problem."

He swung Volstagg's axe experimentally. "What am I to do with you?"

. . .

Loki tilted his head, swinging the axe and relishing the taint of fear on the warrior's ruddy face—Volstagg was as foolish as a peasant if he thought mere ropes could hold him.

Frey stood in one fluid motion, snapping the ropes that bound his legs and arms in the process. "If you plan on killing him, don't do it here—washing blood off the rocks is a horrendously laborious task, and I fear my old joints are not up to take the burden."

Loki sighed. "Fine. I'll do it elsewhere."

"You would kill me?" Volstagg appeared to be on the edge of teetering, before he gave a great laugh, the ale making him brash. "Loki the Coward? The jester who would tinker with magic rather than slay with a sword!"

"The jester who murders with magic," Loki corrected him. "The Warriors Three will become the Warriors Two, and no one will be the wiser."

Volstagg spluttered. "Hogun and Sif will notice, as will—"

"Of course they will notice, you oaf!" Loki threw up his hands, and the blades he held glinted dangerous. "How thick is your skull? Do you really think I would kill you, when the entire house of Asgard would note your absence?

Volstagg's mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out.

Frey sighed, beginning to lumber back to his cave. "As much as I enjoy the entertainment you two are providing, I cannot stay any longer. Using magic in two successive nights has sapped my strength, and before you and your brother came, I had not used the Dark Elves' songs in nearly a century."

Loki's face darkened as he recalled what had happened last night.

 _You dare seek the Stones, boy?_

He knew who that voice belonged to. The Mad Titan.

Thanos.

He had found out that Loki was searching for the Stones. Loki could feel the time counting down, with Ragnarök approaching and the search for the Stones now becoming a race against a formidable foe. Here he was, all alone in his quest of . . . what? Redemption? Power? . . . Perhaps, acceptance?

The music of the Dark Elves still echoed in the recesses of his mind, stirring the memories that had been revived last night and left him stunned and exhausted. His mother's death, Thor's belief in his own death . . . each time, he was alone. He'd been alone his entire life, except for when he was younger, playing make-believe games with his brother and getting into all sorts of trouble with him. Perhaps he was attempting to retrieve that same childhood acceptance. He wasn't sure.

Frey stopped outside the mouth of his cave and turned around to face Loki, as if sensing his thoughts. "Last night—that voice belonged to the one who is searching for the Stones. The one who was shrouded in shadows in my initial search."

Loki said nothing, but Frey nodded, as if his silence confirmed his suspicions.

"Your demons will continue to devour you until nothing remains." Frey said.

Loki's face hardened, disliking the prophetic tone that the old warrior had adopted. "Demons? Quite the Midgardian notion, would you not say?"

"An appropriate metaphor, nonetheless." Frey said, unblinking. "They lurk within one's soul, their nature unknown but their presence keenly felt."

"Worry not. I'm quite familiar with my 'demons'."

"Are you?" Frey gave one last sweeping gaze before lumbering into his cave, his figure quickly swallowed by darkness.

Loki's frown lingered before it was wiped clear of his face and he turned towards Volstagg, his head cocked. "So, if I cannot kill you . . . whatever will I do with you?"

* * *

 **The Avengers Compound**

Sam tried to stay angry with Rhodes—he really did. But he just couldn't do it.

He knew the expectations that came with the military, understood the complete obedience and loyalty that it demanded. A direct order was a direct order was a direct order. Nothing could change that.

So when he awoke late on Wednesday morning and went to the breakroom to find Rhodes and two steaming mugs of coffee, he silently accepted the black-no cream-no sugar and took a sip.

"I'm going to the Point today," Rhodes started, placing his coffee on a table.

"Meeting with Secretary Ross?" Sam guessed.

Rhodes nodded. "He's scheduled to give a speech to the new cadets tomorrow."

Often referred to as the Point, the US Military Academy in West Point, New York accepted approximately 1,300 cadets each year, 1000 of whom graduated at the end of the four year undergraduate program, often being commissioned into the Army. Tomorrow, the Secretary of Defense would be giving a rousing speech to the Academy's newest cadets.

"Maybe he'll give you a pat on the back."

Rhodes gave a laugh, but it was humourless. "Sure. I withheld information from him for months, but he'll thank me anyway."

Wanda's voice came from a room down the hall, cutting through their conversation. "Hey guys, you might want to see this!"

Sam and Rhodes traded looks before leaving the break room and heading to Wanda's room. Inside, they found Wanda sitting on her bed. She was looking at the television, which was currently showing an aerial shot of the Avengers Tower.

Then it transitioned into a blurred image of a person falling.

"While we have yet to identify this individual, it is clear that he—and we are fairly certain that it was a boy—fell from the Avengers Tower, only to be saved by the Scarlet Witch and Iron Man."

A video taken at street level started playing, showing Tony in his red and gold suit as he placed his hands beneath a body suspended by glowing red tendrils of energy.

"Oh, Tony's gonna love this," Rhodes said, shaking his head as the reporter continued speaking, standing in front of a large commotion of news vans, cameras, and anchors stationed around the front doors of the Avengers Tower.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a training room right now?" Sam asked Wanda.

"I already was—for two hours," She said tiredly, flopping back on her bed and staring at the ceiling.

"Where's Clint? I didn't see him at the range this morning." Rhodes asked.

"Homestead." Wanda murmured, closing her eyes.

Rhodes frowned. Despite the fact that it was morning, Wanda looked exhausted. She'd probably overexerted herself yesterday after catching Percy over such a distance—like a runner who had run far longer than they should have. Nevertheless, the fact that she had pulled it off—caught a person (falling at a high velocity, no less) over a distance of 1000+ feet—was a testament to the increasing growth of her gifts, and how powerful she could become. It was only last month that she had developed the degree of precision to start catching bullets. Rhodes was reminded of what Thor had said last night: _You have only just begun to tap into the Mind Stone's power—energy beams, 'phasing' through objects—as you Midgardians put it—, manipulation of gravity to enable flight—they are only just glimpses into the vast expanse of the Stone's power_. Wanda's gifts were a direct result of the Mind Stone—that, and many years of HYDRA experimentation. Considering that, Rhodes couldn't help but wonder what she and Vision were truly capable of.

Recognizing that watching her fall asleep would be disturbing, Sam pulled a blanket over Wanda while Rhodes turned off the television just as the news switched to reporting on the bird apocalypse. Then the two men quietly retreated out of her room.

"I better leave now," Rhodes said once the door was closed, heading towards his room.

"Now?" Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "It takes only an hour to get to the Academy."

There was a loud thump from a room to their left and then the door opened. An exhausted looking Thor staggered out, and Sam caught sight of dark circles under the eyes and a pained expression on his face.

"Hey man, you okay?" Rhodes asked, slightly alarmed.

"I'm fine. My sleep was fraught with dreams." He straightened with difficulty and made his way down the hall, his steps heavy with burden.

"More like nightmares." Sam said, once he was out of sight.

"Dude's built like a linebacker."

Sam nodded. "Tell me about it."

. . .

Thor downed the coffee, grimacing from the bitter taste but hoping that it would wash away the remnants of the dream that lingered in his mind.

He had relived Loki's death, relived it as if his brother were still alive only to be killed last night. If he had known that this was the price to pay for using the songs of the Dark Elves, he would have . . . no, he would have asked Frey for help nonetheless. But perhaps he would have been less enthusiastic.

Thor was so entrenched in his thoughts and memories that he didn't hear Sam Wilson walk up to him from behind. He nearly jumped when he heard his voice and turned around.

"Want more?" Sam asked, pointing to his empty mug. It appeared he was attempting to smooth relations and make amends after the short-lived conflict with him last night.

"No, thank you." Thor said. He surveyed the room. "Where is your friend?"

"Rhodey? Oh, he's got a . . . meeting." Sam responded vaguely.

Thor nodded. "This has something to do with the conflict between Rogers and Stark."

Sam blinked. "How much do you know about it?"

"Not much," Thor admitted.

And so Sam explained what had happened yesterday, and the difference of opinions between the captain and Tony. "So Rhodes is going to the Academy to meet with Ross. Disobeying a direct order that came all the way up from the Secretary of Defense . . . he'll be lucky if he's only suspended from duty," Sam sighed.

Thor shook his head. "You and your politics. You must not trust each other if your very own people wish to tie you down like dogs."

"It's not like—"

"All the peoples of the Nine Realms—except for you humans—have a certain trust in the All-Father and his ruling." Thor continued. "It is essential for both peace and unity. If they demanded that we relinquish our titles, surrender our swords, and allow for another company of warriors to rule over us, then nothing would be accomplished. Everyone would be too occupied with ensuring control."

"That's not what's going on here." Sam said firmly, his annoyance from last night rising up again.

Thor laughed, the matter ever so clear for him. "Isn't it?" He left the breakroom, leaving his empty mug on the counter.

. . .

Fury stood at the desk in his room, watching a video on his screen.

A slight figure hurtled through New York City's midnight cityscape, swinging from the elegant glass roofs of condos, concrete pillars of somber establishments, and some of the most well-known structural icons in North America. Finally, the red-and-blue clad figure landed on the roof of an apartment building in Queens. After a furtive look around, he (or she?) executed a clean back flip into one of the topmost windows and disappeared from view.

Recognizing that he wouldn't see much else in the footage, Fury terminated the link. It would be unfortunate if Stark were to discover that he was using his satellite for purposes that he had not personally authorized.

"20 Ingram Street." Fury muttered.

. . .

Steve stopped by the operations room on his way to another training session. Looking around, he spotted Hill standing before an array of screens with various videos and files.

"Any HYDRA activity?" He asked, walking towards her. Beneath his question lay another one: _Any sign of Bucky?_

Hill looked up to him before returning her gaze to the screens. Wearing a close-fitting tactical uniform, an advanced Bluetooth earpiece sitting firmly in her right ear, Maria Hill gave an imposing impression. "Nothing. It's been quiet. Rumlow has yet to surface since his last failed mission, as well."

Brock Rumlow, a HYDRA agent who was still alive following the battle at the Triskelion, in which he was nearly crushed to death by a falling helicarrier, was HYDRA's most active agent. For the past several months, he had attempted to infiltrate secure sites containing servers, laboratories developing bioweapons, and several other locations safeguarding important intel and dangerous materials. Steve believed that Rumlow was getting desperate; according to their knowledge, HYDRA had not carried out a single successful mission ever since SHIELD fell. At every turn and every corner, Steve and his team were there to stop him and drive him back. And yet, that didn't seem to be deterring Rumlow from his most important mission: to kill Bucky, before any information that the former HYDRA assassin held ended up in the wrong hands—like those of the Avengers.

Steve nodded, trying not to feel too disappointed. "Let me know if something comes up." He left the room.

The rest of the day passed with relative peace and quiet and it wasn't long before Steve awoke early on Thursday morning, ready to continue Wanda's training.

He found her in the breakroom, speaking with Natasha.

". . . thought that maybe "Mist" was code for something, but—" Wanda broke off when she saw Steve.

"Training room 4 today," he said.

Wanda nodded, gave Natasha a meaningful look, and then followed Steve out of the room.

"Hey, do you think we could go see Tony's lesson with Percy today?" She asked. Steve noted the degree of interest in her voice.

"Yeah, sure." It wasn't like they had much to do, anyway. Not with HYDRA remaining silent. Steve wasn't looking forward to another confrontation with Tony, however.

* * *

Grover was frantic by the time he reached Camp Half-Blood on Thursday afternoon. He had spent much of the night listening to Querci and became more than a little upset by the time she was finished with her account of events. The accusations that she was levelling against Percy and Annabeth were the most serious Grover had ever heard, and his faith in his friends was warring with his duty as an Elder . . . they couldn't be guilty of the things Querci had said, right?

Nevertheless, on early Thursday morning, he attempted to leave Central Park to go to Camp, but was held back by his duty as a Cloven Elder—if he left, there would be no one to supervise the clean-up of the birds. All of the other Elders were back at Camp, most likely wining and dining, as per their daily routine.

And so he was forced to remain until late afternoon, when the final dead bird (according to the dryads, at least) was recovered. Once the clean up was finished, he hastily thanked all of the satyrs and wild spirits for their help and hurried back to Camp. Almost immediately, he came by Piper on sentry duty.

"Where's Percy and Annabeth?" He asked, out of breath from sprinting up the hill.

Piper looked at him, slightly alarmed. On her shoulder, an owl glared at him with eerie golden eyes. "They just left for the city—something about meeting a friend, I think. Everything okay?"

Grover groaned, disbelieving of his luck. All the effort he'd poured into returning to Camp, only for the two of them to leave just as he arrived. "Where's Chiron?"

"The Big House. Do you want me to—"

Grover was gone before she could complete the rest of her question.

After a moment of watching him sprint away, Piper turned to Screech. "That was Grover," she explained.

Screech turned her beak up distastefully.

* * *

Percy had the taxi drop him and Annabeth off about a block from the fighting studio—they could walk the rest of the way. That, and the fact that they needed a bit more time to decide how best to break it off with Tony and Clint. As they rounded a corner, Percy felt his phone vibrate. Still walking, he pulled out his phone, typing his password into the lock screen—

He grunted as his right shoulder collided painfully with something and the phone flew out of his hand, clattering onto the sidewalk.

"Oh man, so sorry about that!"

Before Percy could say anything, the teenager whom he had walked into scooped up his phone and offered it to him, still babbling apologies.

Annabeth took the phone, reading the text message while Percy nursed his shoulder. The kid—he looked like he was still in high school—was doing the same thing.

"Dude, you've got a hard shoulder!" He said earnestly. The kid was rather tall—close to Percy's height, but not quite—with a slight frame, boyish features, and a dash of brown hair.

"Yeah, I've been told," Percy said. He actually hadn't, but hey—he was trying to make small talk.

"Hey, wait a minute . . ." The kid's eyes widened. "You're Percy Jackson!"

Annabeth's head snapped up and Percy's hand drifted to his pocket, both of them immediately on high alert. Coincidental bump in the shoulder? Sure, they could handle that. But name dropping? That was more than suspicious. "Who wants to know?"

The teenager beamed, offering his hand. "Peter. Peter Parker."

* * *

 **Thoughts? Questions? Leave a review!**

 **Again, the majority of reviews were (or are currently being) responded to via PMs.**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Dar Losh:** _Wow, thank you! And that's great - I look forward to reading your story! :)_

 **Guest (June 15th):** _And more deception to come ;)_

 **Guest (June 14th):** _LOL, so true! Happened so many times, but I eventually got into the habit - it was either that, or deal with the sneezing and itch eyes and everything else that comes with allergies._


	19. Death by Water Puddle

**First off, as some of you may have noticed, this story has a new cover picture. I want to give a big thanks to Minjad for the art; it's absolutely fabulous and perfectly suited for this story. THANK YOU!**

 **Furthermore: I'm sure that many of you will recognize this story title: "Rage against the dying of the light". I'd hazard a guess and say that it isn't nearly as popular as it possibly could be because of casting decisions that the author, ellesmer .joe3, made. It is not centered around Percy and Co., as far as I can tell (I'm still reading the story). That being said, this does not make the story unworthy of a read; please, if you're simply looking for a good story to read—a story that's got good grammar, a well-developed and entirely original plot, and a writing style that makes it engaging to read, please check this story out. It hasn't gotten nearly as much attention as it deserves.**

 **Alright, so I recognize that many of you were disappointed with the last chapter for various reasons, be it that the chapter was short, did not contain preferred POVs . . . or maybe lacking in quality? I do want to say, and perhaps warn, that this story isn't entirely PJO-centric; as you've already seen, there are numerous POVs that all play important roles in contributing to the plot. That's not to say that Percy/Annabeth's POVs aren't significant—they are one of the more important ones, if not the most important. However, that being said, I've included a great deal of Percy/Annabeth/Avengers socialization in this chapter to make up for the last.**

 **If the last chapter was lacking in quality, I apologize. I hope you find this chapter more to your liking :)**

 **I am juggling a couple of things at the moment; I got a job, and there are a few other things going on, but I'm trying to stay on track of at least one update per week. I must apologize to Br0kenThOrn—I said I'd try to get in 8 chapters by July 1st, but I'm quite certain that I'm not going to succeed in that goal at this point.**

 **Nevertheless, please enjoy this chapter :)**

* * *

 _Previously on TIW:DIS:_

 _Loki contemplates what he should do with Volstagg, who is now aware that Loki is acting as a faux Odin and that Ragnarök is approaching._

 _Back at the Avengers compound: Sam forgives Rhodes for his act of telling Secretary Ross about their missions to find Bucky; Rhodes leaves to meet Ross at the military Academy at West Point; Clint has left for Homestead; Percy's fall from the Tower makes it onto the news; Thor and Sam have a disagreement over the nature of government oversight, with Midgardian and Asgardian politics being compared; Fury uses Tony's satellite to discover the identity of Spider-Man (unbeknownst to Tony); Maria Hill and Steve continue to look for Brock Rumlow (HYDRA's foremost soldier) and Bucky._

 _Grover continues to look for Percy and Annabeth after his discussion with Querci, and eventually goes to the Big House to tell everything to Chiron._

 _Percy and Annabeth go to downtown Manhattan, heading for the studio while preparing to break things off with Tony. They bump into Peter Parker._

* * *

 **Death by Water Puddle**

15 minutes ago, Peter had a plan. After everything he'd heard last night in the Avengers' conversation, he knew that Tony took fighting lessons from Percy, and he knew where: the small fighting studio on 8th Avenue. He also knew when: 3:00-5:00 PM. And so he decided it was time to find out if this guy really did have some sort of powers. At around 2:45, he went to 8th Avenue and started loitering around the studio, in the hopes that he would bump into Percy.

He didn't expect to actually _bump_ into him.

And he most definitely didn't expect to recognize him. But after colliding with, of all coincidences, Percy's very solid shoulder and quickly scooping up his phone, only for his girlfriend (. . . Annabeth?) to take it from him with a slight frown, he realized that he actually knew this guy from somewhere. Not from the battle in Central Park, or from the conversation among the Avengers, but from _somewhere else._ And suddenly, the person standing before him wasn't Percy Jackson—he was _Percy Jackson._

His apologies melted away to be replaced by awe. This guy was a rock star.

"The Goode swim team, right? You nearly broke the National School Record for the 200 freestyle at the last swim meet!"

. . .

Realization dawned on Percy's face and he finally relaxed, taking Peter's hand and shaking it. "Yeah, that's me—Percy Jackson."

Having returned from the Second Giant War and struggling to finish his senior year at Goode, Percy decided to join the school's swim team. Obviously, there were some problems, with him being the son of Poseidon and all (as Annabeth endlessly pointed out to him when she discovered that he'd joined the team), but Percy quickly found a way to swim competitively without cheating: just swim. It was as easy as that; as long as he didn't use any of his powers, then it couldn't be considered cheating, right? And it turned out that Percy was actually a decent swimmer—decent enough to win at the majority of his meets and nearly break the National School Record, apparently.

(Well, if Percy were being honest, he'd admit that he _may_ have manipulated the currents that one time, just a little bit. It was his very last swim meet of high school—he wanted to make a splash, excuse the pun).

"Midtown High School, Queens," Peter said, further introducing himself. "You guys totally demolished our swim team!"

Percy wasn't quite sure why Peter sounded so happy about that. It was like smiling and saying, "I cut off my finger!"

"Percy," Annabeth called his name to get his attention, and showed him a text from Tony:

 _Change of plans. There's a mob outside the Tower right now because of the stunt you pulled last night (and I'm not pointing any fingers, kid, I'm just saying it like it is). I don't feel like sneaking out of the Tower today to get to the studio. How do you feel about undercover work? Haven't done much, but I've been told it's . . ._

The text continued for another few sentences as Tony rambled on about inconsequential information. Then:

 _So, I've set everything up. Just go to the studio, and you'll receive further instructions there. I promise I'm not kidnapping you. See you in 30!_

Percy reread the text several times. Finally, he said, "I don't understand."

"Instead of him sneaking out of the Tower, I think Tony wants us to sneak _in_ , so then you would give him his lesson in the Tower, rather than the studio." Annabeth muttered, looking over the text. She gave a surreptitious glance at Peter, worried that he might become interested in what they were talking about, but fortunately, it appeared that the kid was respecting their privacy and turning a deaf ear to their quiet exchange.

"Maybe we should just send a text telling him that we're busy for the rest of the summer and that you can't take the job," Percy said halfheartedly.

Annabeth shot him a glare. "No. That's just rude."

Peter gave a light (fake) cough.

Percy shifted on his feet, looking apologetically at the kid. "Well, it was nice meeting you Peter, but we've got someone to meet . . ."

Peter suddenly looked awkward—possibly even more so than before—and shifted his feet. "Oh yeah, sure. Maybe we can meet up sometime and . . ."

Starting to feel slightly bad for the kid, though he wasn't sure why, Percy nodded. "Yeah, sounds good—we can hang out some time, and maybe you can tell me why you were so glad that our swim team won, instead of yours."

Peter looked relieved. "Yeah, totally." His face suddenly brightened. "You play any ball?"

Percy grinned. "You bet. How about some time on Saturday, at the Great Lawn?"

"That sounds great!" Peter responded, rather enthusiastically. "I'll see you Saturday, then!" He raised a hand in farewell, and then crossed the street before either Percy or Annabeth could respond.

"Peter is obsessed with you," Annabeth observed.

Percy blinked. "What? No!"

"He was literally drooling all over you. You know—the younger they are, the more impressionable they are."

"Wait, what? You mean—" Percy had a flashback to when he first met Nico. He didn't want a repeat of that.

"No." Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Gods, you're such a seaweed brain sometimes. Come on, we'd better go to the studio and see what Tony has in mind."

* * *

Peter sat in the back of the taxi, on his way back to the apartment building where he lived with his aunt. He couldn't believe the coincidence. The guy he'd seen possibly controlling a giant wave of water in Central Park, the guy who'd been speaking to Thor, and who Tony and the rest of the Avengers had been talking about on Tuesday, was _Percy Jackson_.

The morning after that near-recordbreaking swim meet in May, Midtown was abuzz with talk about a rookie swimmer from Goode. A swimmer who'd been making a lot of waves ever since the first swim meet he competed in, in which he outswam all the competitors from Midtown. It was embarrassing enough for Midtown's swimmers that Percy joined in the middle of his senior year and had reportedly never competed in a single swim meet in his life before, but it was even worse that nearly half of Midtown's swimmers belonged to Flash's clique of jockeys. Flash Thompson, Midtown's football star and the biggest bully in all of Queens. Peter had endured his taunts and jeers for the majority of his high school career, and he had only just finished his sophomore year. So when he heard in passing that a Percy Jackson beat out all of Midtown's swimmers in every single swim meet, he sighed in contentment and sent up a prayer thanking this stranger for bringing embarrassment to Flash and his gang.

That wasn't to say that Peter was sadistic in any way—far from it. In Peter's case, after two years of physical, verbal, and cyber bullying, it was a form of short-lived justice.

In Peter's eyes, Percy was a hero.

So, while he looked forward to playing some basketball with Percy because he wanted to find out if he was hiding any superpowers, he was also ecstatic about meeting the guy who put Flash to shame.

* * *

When Percy and Annabeth went into the studio, they found it empty; Tony and Clint weren't there, nor were any of the other Avengers. Even Percy's boss was nowhere to be found (though he was rarely in the studio on the usual day). However, hanging from one of the coat hangers on the opposite side of the studio were a pair of clothes covers; those large bags that one might use to protect suit jackets or dresses from wrinkling and collecting dust. Beneath them sat a pair of heels, and a pair of loafers.

Percy unzipped one of the clothes bags, revealing an expensive looking, freshly ironed (Percy swore the fabric was still warm to the touch) red blouse and black pencil skirt. "He can _not_ be expecting me to wear this."

"No, dummy," Annabeth snatched the blouse and skirt, handing him the other clothes cover. "This one's yours."

Percy opened the long bag to find an expensive looking black suit jacket, trousers, a white dress shirt, and a tie. Percy frowned. "Why is the tie green?"

Annabeth looked up from her inspection of the daring red blouse, and swallowed. _Because it matches your eyes_. She didn't say that, of course, but it was true. The tie was a vivid sea green, as if Tony had taken a snapshot of Percy's irises and pasted the color onto a blank white tie.

As Percy continued to scrutinize the suit, Annabeth spotted a small paper lying on the shelf directly above the coat hangers. She reached for it, catching the tip of the paper and bringing it before her eyes. It was a note from Tony. When she was finally finished reading the note, she looked around until she spotted what she was looking for in her clothes bag. She discreetly slipped it into her pocket.

"What's that?" Percy finally noticed the paper in her hands. "Another note from Tony?" He came over to her, reading the note over her shoulder.

When he was finished, he looked excited. "No way. This is awesome—I'm so going to—"

"No you're not," Annabeth said firmly. The object in her pocket weighed heavier. "Now go change into your outfit, and meet me back here. And don't even _think_ about going outside." She warned.

Percy rolled his eyes, but went to the men's change room (or maybe man's change room, considering that there was only one stall?) of the studio, while Annabeth went to the women's. Five minutes later, Annabeth was walking out feeling slightly uncomfortable—the red shirt felt like it was getting brighter every second, and the skirt was shorter than her liking.

She slipped the black heels on (thank the gods that Piper forced her to practice wearing heels, despite all her excuses about not having the time) and a few moments later, Percy walked out, a similar expression of discomfort on his face. He clearly didn't like the suit.

"Um, how do I look?" He asked nervously, fixing his tie again.

Annabeth had to admit: Percy looked good. Like, really good. Dressed in a suit jacket and trousers that seemed to be fitted down to the last inch, the rich green tie bringing out the color in his eyes, Percy no longer seemed like the goofy guy she'd been dating for the last year, but an intense boyfriend with a very refined taste.

"Sharp. You look sharp." Annabeth managed finally. She handed him the loafers and he put them on before straightening again.

"Um, you look really nice as well," Percy swallowed.

Did he just _blush_?

"Come on," Annabeth said impatiently, breaking the moments. Gods, how old were they—14? She started towards the door.

Percy suddenly remembered Tony's note. "I'm—"

"No, you're not." Annabeth interrupted. Briefly pulling her jeans out of the clothes bag, she finally extracted the slim car remote that she had slipped into her pant pocket. She showed it to Percy. "I'm driving."

"But—"

"No buts. I don't want us to get into an accident because you were ogling everything in the car." Annabeth stepped out of the studio, looking for the vehicle.

"But it's a—"

"I don't care." Annabeth finally stopped at the curb, standing beside a car that was parked on the street directly in front of the studio.

The sleek red Mercedes-Benz E63 S sedan was attracting curious and envious glances from more than a few passersby. Annabeth supposed that this was one sure-fire way to find out if someone was filthy rich—when they had no qualms about handing over the keys of a $100 000 luxury car to a pair of barely-adult teenagers.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she realized that her blouse was the exact same shade as the car. She pointed to the passenger's seat. "Get in— _now_."

Percy grumbled, but finally obeyed, sitting in shot gun. Annabeth went around and slipped into the driver's seat.

"Okay," Annabeth took a deep breath, going over everything aloud—it helped her focus. "Tony said that Friday will recognize us at the gate to his private parking lot, which is behind the Tower. We just have to get through all the reporters _around_ the Tower."

"Right. No biggie. You just can't scratch the ca—"

"Percy, shut up."

"Shutting up."

"Once we get to the penthouse, we tell Tony that you can't be his instructor anymore and I can't take the job."

This time, Percy stayed quiet.

Annabeth rested her hands on the steering wheel, finding the courage to start the car and feel the purr of the engine as it came alive. _Come on Chase—you've piloted a helicopter before. Luxury car? That's nothing._

A few moments later, they had pulled out and slipped seamlessly into Manhattan traffic.

Annabeth began to notice that something strange was going on when they hit their third green light in a row and she realized that she hadn't put on the brakes even once, ever since she first pulled into traffic. In fact, what traffic? It was smooth driving all the way down 8th Avenue _and_ 47th Street.

"Percy, something's wrong," Annabeth said as she turned onto Park Avenue and spotted the Tower in the distance.

"Yeah, nobody's honked at us and you haven't needed to honk at anybody," Percy said, picking up on her unease. He was a New Yorker at heart—he knew NYC traffic like the back of his hand. No traffic at all? Nobody got that lucky. This was an intervention of Fate.

Or maybe . . . an intervention of someone else.

"Annabeth, look," Percy pointed up through the windshield.

Nearly directly above their car, keeping pace with them despite their relatively fast speed, was a Great Horned owl. It was as if the owl was escorting them to the Tower.

"Is that Screech?" Percy asked, peering up at the flying bird.

"No—Screech isn't even done fledging," Annabeth said, rolling her eyes. She continued to keep track of the bird in her peripheral vision. "This is a sign from my mother—she has something to do with this."

"What—all these streets lights?" Percy didn't remember Athena being the goddess of traffic.

" _He_ turned Thalia into a pine tree," Annabeth pointed out. "You could think of this as strategy. Reconfigure an entire grid of traffic lights within a 5-10 mile radius so that a single car makes it to its destination without having to stop once. You would need to redirect the majority of traffic flow. Adjust the times when a traffic light switches from green to red."

"Huh." His thoughts wandering for a moment, Percy wondered how greatly NYC traffic would benefit if Annabeth were in charge. "But why would she be helping us? I would have thought that they would be angry that we were meeting with Tony again—my dad was pretty clear about not going anywhere near the Avengers."

Annabeth bit her lip. "I don't know." She felt uneasy. This brash show of power? The degree to which her mother was interfering with mortal affairs? This wasn't like Athena.

They finally reached the Tower, and the two of them took in the crowd of reporters and vans that was clustered around the front doors.

"I did all this?" Percy asked, looking at the huge mass.

"Next time, try to avoid falling off one of the tallest buildings in the city." Annabeth said, steering the car towards the side gate that would lead to the private parking lot in the back.

Upon seeing their car turning towards the gate, the mob of reporters surged forward, engulfing them in seconds. Suits pressed up against the expensive paint job, tape recorders were held out haphazardly, shouts and yells bounced off their tinted windows . . . Annabeth was glad that Tony had given them only a $100k car. Who knew what they would do to a Lamborghini.

"Out of the way, people," Annabeth muttered. Becoming frustrated, she honked at them repeatedly, slowing carving a path through the bodies and cameras.

They finally reached a metal security gate and after a moment's pause, it swung open and they drove into the private parking lot, the gate closing up behind them. Annabeth parked the car and the two got out, keeping their faces carefully turned away from the several reporters who still lingered by the security gate. Fortunately, the business-like attires that Percy and Annabeth wore eventually convinced reporters that the two of them were simply employees at the Tower and had no information to share, and certainly weren't personally involved in the incident—after all, how could normal, boring people ever have gotten access into Tony Stark's penthouse, and then fallen from the landing pad? Sure, they had some money, but a $100k car? Clearly not enough money to buy their way into Tony's good graces.

"Owl's gone," Percy commented, looking around.

Annabeth pursed her lips, something clearly troubling her. Finally, she said, "Come on, let's get inside."

The two went into the Tower.

* * *

"Father, this is ill advised. I—"

"Enough, Athena." Zeus cut across her words, giving her a warning glare. "Percy and Annabeth will remain among the Avengers. Perhaps then we may gather information as to why Thor Odinson has entered our domain once again." The king of gods tightened his grip on his Master Bolt, clearly unhappy with the intrusion of the foreigner. The other gods in the throne room shifted uncomfortably in their thrones, Zeus' simmering anger making them uneasy. "I cannot watch the Asgardian each second of the day—the Ancient Laws forbid me from doing so. The demigods however . . . they will do well." He said with satisfaction.

"I will not have my son used as a spy!" Poseidon said, already on his feet in protest. "He—"

"Brother, do not test my patience." Zeus' eyes flashed dangerously. "You will send a message to Percy showing your support in his relationship with this Anthony Stark, as Athena has already done."

Athena swallowed her retort, recognizing that it would not be wise to show her dissention at this moment.

Zeus' unhappiness with affairs on Olympus had only grown since the end of the Second Giant War. With his son Jason now finishing what Percy Jackson first began by advocating for the equal representation of all gods, be they from the corners of the world or residing in America herself, unrest in Olympus had grown. Each month, more and more minor gods requested audiences with the twelve Olympians, demanding that they provide each of them with a seat of power in the throne room. Emboldened by the increasing number of shrines, temples, and cabins in in Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, the voices of once-ignored deities were becoming louder and the turmoil was growing.

It didn't help that Artemis was no longer on speaking terms with Zeus; not since Apollo had fallen missing and Zeus refused to tell any of them where he had sent the god. His empty throne stood as a tense reminder of what happened to those who defied Zeus' will. Artemis' seat of power was also empty at the moment; a sign of defiance to her father's summons.

And now with the re-entry of Thor Odinson into their domain, Zeus' anger was boiling over. Athena's agreement to send a sign of her support of Annabeth's relationship with Anthony Stark was done solely to placate her father; she would broach the subject of using Percy and Annabeth as spies when she found him in a more agreeable mood. For now, her daughter would have to remain in the dark. Athena wasn't concerned by this; Annabeth was a strong girl, and though she could never tell her so, she was proud of everything she had accomplished thus far. Except for dating Percy Jackson, of course. She didn't know what her daughter saw in that boy. His fatal flaw made him terribly compromised in some respects, and with all the enemies that he and the gods had garnered over the years, it was only a matter of time before someone exploited his vulnerability.

Nevertheless, it was rather tedious. Just two days before, she and Poseidon had informed the two demigods to stay away from the Avengers on orders from Zeus, who feared that the immortal world might be exposed if they remained in the presence of the mortal heroes for too long. Poseidon had went along with his brother's wishes, recognizing that they weren't entirely absurd, and Athena had wholly agreed with her father in that regard; some of the Avengers possessed gifts that no mortal had ever laid their hands on. If their disruption of mortal affairs continued at its current rate, the gods might indeed be in genuine danger of being discovered.

"But what of the treaty?" Demeter asked. "The demigods' relationship with Thor is in direct conflict with it."

"With the growing friendship between Percy, Annabeth, and Thor—" Zeus' face darkened as he spoke the prince's name, "I render the treaty null. We have no need of it, for now." No one dared to mention that Zeus needed Odin's approval to make alterations to the treaty. The king of the gods rose to his feet, his master bolt brightening with power. "Do as I say, Brother, and do not question my decision. The Prince of Asgard has travelled through my domain too many times, and I would like to find out why."

With a thunderous crack and a bright flash of lightning, Zeus was gone, leaving behind the smell of ozone and signalling an end to the meeting.

As the gods began to disperse, moving off to wherever they desired, Athena approached Poseidon.

"Uncle," she began formally, so as to indicate that he put aside their traditional bickering for the moment. "It would be wise to abide to Zeus' wishes."

Poseidon regarded her with his sharp sea green eyes. "Would it? You support a decision that would use your daughter, as it would my son?"

"They will find out, sooner or later." Athena said reasonably. "And you must recognize that we cannot allow the Asgardian to continuously gallivant through our domain without our permission; it would be a sign of rare leniency. The last thing we need at this time is for all of the other gods to believe that we had become idle in this time of peace."

Poseidon pursed his lips, clearing considering Athena's words. "Very well. But let it be known that the sea cannot be restrained by trickery forever." And with that, Poseidon disappeared in a spray of water.

Athena sniffed with disapproval as the scent of sea salt invaded her sense of smell. Gods—they were always ones for flair.

* * *

Percy was sweating at the palms by the time they finally reached the penthouse level. What was he supposed to say? _Hey Tony, had a great time this last week, but some good things just don't last. I can't keep embarrassing you on the fighting mat and Annabeth can't take the once-in-a-lifetime job that you offered. Nothing personal—just parents, you know?_

Like that was a satisfactory answer. Percy was pretty sure it created more questions than answers. Like what kind of parents would deny a fat weekly pay check from a billionaire or a job in one of the most successful companies in the world.

Godly parents, apparently.

Percy was frustrated with Poseidon; he had never been involved in his personal life before. Never given advice on girls, never offered comforting words in difficult times. And yet here he was now, suddenly deciding who Percy's friends were.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Friday gave them a pleasant greeting in her Irish accent. _"Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson and Miss. Chase. How are you today?"_

Annabeth responded for them. "Great, thanks. Where's Tony?"

 _"I will lead you to him. Mr. Stark has made slight renovations to the gym to accommodate for today's combat lesson."_

"Combat lesson?" Percy muttered.

 _"Follow this hall down until . . ."_ Friday continued to provide them instructions to navigate the penthouse, until they finally found themselves in front of a pair of glass doors. Taking a deep breath, Percy pushed them open and he and Annabeth walked in.

The room was clearly geared towards fitness. There was a boxing ring at one end and a climbing wall on the other, the latter of which towered an impressive 40 feet, taking full advantage of the tall height of the penthouse. There was also a punching bag in the corner, a rack of hand weights, and some comfortable couches clustered around a coffee table in the very centre of the room.

"Percy, Annabeth!" Tony rose from one of the couches, gesturing for them to come over. The billionaire was wearing black jeans and a blazer over a grey v-neck, his red shades tucked into his blazer pocket.

Tony appraised the two of them. "Looking sharp," he grinned. "Wasn't quite sure what kind of tie to get, so I settled with this one. Looks like I made the right choice."

 _"With my helpful input,"_ Friday pointed out.

Tony sighed. "Yeah, yeah."

Percy shifted uncomfortably, trying to form a coherent sentence that would tell Tony that he could no longer be his instructor—or even a mere acquaintance, for that matter.

"How are you feeling? Up to giving a lesson today?" Tony's tone was light, but he was clearly looking out for Percy.

And that's when Percy remembered that the last time Tony had seen him, he'd been out cold from his asthma attack/flashback. He felt his face begin to burn with shame; he'd been in one of his most vulnerable states, in front of the _Avengers_.

Tony seemed to sense his embarrassment, because he clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it, kid. Happens to everyone one way or another." And just like that, Percy felt relieved. There was a certain kinship he felt with Tony at that moment; a split second of pure, inexplicable understanding.

Then Tony rubbed his hands together and the moment disappeared. "Now, let's get this lesson started, shall we?" And before Percy or Annabeth could say anymore, Tony was steering the two of them towards another pair of doors.

Percy pushed open one of the doors and being the first to step in, he caught sight of a wide, tall, empty gymnasium-style room. Then he heard the unmistakable whistle of an airborne dagger to his left and his demigod instincts kicked in. He threw himself forward, curling into a roll before popping back to his feet, rocking on the back of his heels (or at least trying to with the loafers Tony had given him—stupid shoes) to give him greater maneuverability. He had Riptide out, his thumb just about to flick off the cap, when he realized that he had made a grave mistake.

To his right, there was a white mannequin with several military-style combat knives embedded deep in its head and chest, one of which was still vibrating slightly. To his left, about 20 feet away, stood Natasha Romanoff, her outstretched arm slowly drifting back down to her side as she regarded him with a neutral expression. Standing next to her, Sam and Steve both frowned at Percy, clearly surprised and confused. And behind them, on the far side of the room, stood Wanda on an elevated walkway, watching everything.

"Uh Percy?" Tony broke the silence. "Not that I don't mind pointy things, but I'd rather you didn't stab anybody with your pen." Then Tony turned towards Natasha, shaking his head. "And really Romanoff? You couldn't have taken a minute to put a sign outside on the doors, warning us that we could be killed if we walked in?"

"It'd be a pity if we lost you, wouldn't it?" Natasha gave a hoarse laugh, finally shattering the strained mood.

Meanwhile, Percy slowly straightened, swallowing as the reality of the situation set in. He'd been that close— _that close_ —to revealing everything. He spared a covert look at Annabeth. She was discreetly sliding her hand out of her purse; evidently, Percy's reaction had had her reaching for her dagger.

"Um, sorry about that." Percy slipped Riptide back into his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look embarrassed. "I saw the daggers and it made me jumpy," He fibbed.

"Yeah, forget about that for the moment—" Tony came towards him with a stern look on his face, and Percy feared what he was about to do next. "Explain to me why you've been teaching me freaking proper standing and defensive stances for the last two lessons when you clearly could have taught me some of those ninja moves! Do you have some martial arts belts that I don't know about?" Tony winked suggestively, as if he would keep it a secret between the two of them.

Percy's mind raced. What should he tell them? Not the truth, obviously. More lies . . . Percy hated when he couldn't be honest. _Just lie as close to the truth as possible_ , he thought to himself. "Uh, no. Remember how I told you about that Greek man who taught me how to fight?"

"That old guru? The one who died?" Tony asked with interest.

Percy wondered how Chiron would react if he knew Tony was calling him a guru. "Yeah, well, he kind of . . ." Percy took a moment to figure out how he was going to word this. "He taught me how to work with weapons, mostly, including how to defend myself against them. That's why I've been teaching you only the basics of hand-to-hand fighting; because I don't know much else." That much was true, at least. All his years as a demigod, Percy had never been forced to resort to hand-to-hand combat; he'd always had a weapon on hand—usually Riptide.

"So what, you know your way around knives?" Sam asked, walking towards them. Steve walked beside him, and he greeted Percy with a smile as they neared.

Percy shook his head. "No, not really." Then he did something surprising. "That's Annabeth's specialty, actually."

Turning to grin at her, he found that Annabeth looked about ready to stab him.

. . .

A moment ago, Annabeth had been ready to do some damage control. Make an excuse about fast reflexes, maybe some story about more trauma and some resultant defence lessons. But now? There was nothing to do damage control on—Percy had just blown everything to smithereens.

Okay, maybe she was exaggerating a little, but _really_? _That's Annabeth's specialty._ Gods, she wanted to strangle that boy.

"She was taught by the same 'guru' as me," Percy explained. He gave her brief look that said, _I'll explain later._ "And she turned out to be pretty talented with daggers."

 _Nice move, Percy._ Annabeth glared daggers at him, letting him know that the compliment wasn't going to help him.

"Really?" Natasha asked, walking over to the group and joining the conversation. Annabeth didn't like the look of interest that the red-haired woman was giving her. It was almost . . . predatory. "I want to see this."

"I'm actually not that great," Annabeth said, trying to pull herself out of the limelight. "Just a few tricks, that's all."

"Like a circus performer," Natasha commented lightly.

The remark was like a slap to the face. Annabeth bit back a retort, forcing her stance to remain relaxed and open. Clearly, while the others may have been fooled by Percy's explanation, Natasha had not. This woman was fishing for something. _Don't rise up to the bait, Chase._ She plastered a grin on her face. "Yup, exactly."

"Aw, shame." Natasha said, taking a sip out of her blue metal water bottle. "I was hoping we could trade techniques, maybe see who could nail Tony the fastest."

Tony sniffed. "My suit can take a couple of daggers."

"Who ever said you would be wearing your suit?" Natasha said, smiling faintly.

The look on Tony's face was enough to tease a laugh out of Annabeth.

"All right, that's enough." Tony shook his head. "I didn't come here to be ridiculed—let's start the lesson now, shall we Percy?"

And that's when reality was brought slamming back to earth, and Percy and Annabeth's faces fell.

"Um, Tony." Percy started, turning on the spot to face the man. "There's something we have to tell you. I can't—" And that's when his foot slipped on a puddle of water that Percy swore had not been there a second before, and he yelped, his arms flailing for balance.

Steve's quick reflexes caught him just as he lost his balance completely. "Romanoff, your water bottle's leaking," he said, pointing to the bottom of her metal canister as he set Percy back on his feet.

"Thanks," Percy muttered, frowning at the water and feeling slightly betrayed. When had he ever slipped, on _water_? Never. He started for the bench at the side of the room, wanting to sit down for a moment. He recalled his train of thought and started speaking to Tony again, over his shoulder because he didn't want to see the disappointed look on the man's face. "What I wanted to say was, I can't tea—"

And that's when Percy broke the historical records a second time and his foot suddenly slid sideways, sending him for an ungraceful tumble to the ground and striking his head against the expensive wooden floor with a painful smack.

"Percy!" Annabeth hurried towards him.

Percy groaned, struggling into a sitting position. "What in the name of Hades . . . ?"

Lying innocently by his feet was another small puddle of water.

"I swear that wasn't there before!" Percy pointed accusingly at the puddle, starting to lose his cool.

"First the daggers, and now this." Tony shook his head, pulling out a first aid kit from a small box attached to the wall. "Admit it Natasha: you're trying to kill Percy.

The red-haired woman lifted her water bottle before her eyes, frowning as she inspected the metal for faults. Sam grabbed a towel from the bench Percy had been heading for and started cleaning up the spilled water.

"You okay, Percy?" Steve asked, kneeling beside him. He scrutinized his head, parting the wild black hair to reveal a swelling bruise, but no blood. "Might have a concussion, but you didn't break the skin."

"I'm fine, thanks," Percy muttered.

Steve nodded, seeming to sense his bad mood and going to help Sam.

The moment he was gone, Annabeth sat down beside Percy, inspecting his head. "I think your dad's trying to talk to you," she said quietly, peering at the bruise.

Percy blinked. "My d—oh. About what?"

"Every time you try to break the news to Tony, you slip up. Maybe it means something?" Annabeth said, shrugging as if they were talking about something trivial.

Percy had a feeling that Annabeth knew exactly what kind of message Poseidon was trying to send him. "Like what?"

"Like maybe your dad doesn't want you to break the news. Remember how my mom helped get us here? Maybe she helped us not because she wants us to break it off faster, but because she's showing her support of our relationship with _them_." Annabeth said, clearly referring to the people in the room with them at the moment. "And maybe your dad supports the relationship as well. So every time you try to end it, he stops you in his own discreet way."

"How is bashing in my head 'discreet'?" Percy shook his head. "And why would my dad and your mom support this relationship? It doesn't make any sense. Two days ago, they told us to stay away from them."

Annabeth shrugged. "I don't know. They changed their minds? If you don't believe it, then go ahead. Try to tell him again," Annabeth said, nodding her head towards Tony as he rifled through the first aids kit. "But don't blame me if you wake up in a hospital, suffering from head trauma."

"I want to believe it . . ." And he did—he really did. "So what if they really are telling us that they support our choice of friends? I continue with the lessons and you get the job?"

"I guess." Annabeth started smiling, no—beaming. The threat of losing her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was gone. "Yeah, I guess so."

Percy grinned, his annoyance falling away. Poseidon and Athena suddenly changing their stance, and making the identical decision to show their support to their son and daughter? The strangeness of the situation was forgotten as Percy felt his mood lift.

"Hey Percy, you okay? You look a little . . . off." Tony said, kneeling next to him with an icepack in hand.

With a swelling bruise on his head and a goofy grin on his face, Percy supposed that he might look a little crazy. But he didn't care, because he no longer had to tell Tony that he could no longer be his instructor. "Yeah—yeah, I'm good. Really good, actually," he said, taking the proffered icepack and pressing it against it his head.

"Were you trying to say something before?" Tony asked, tilting his head. "You can't . . . what? Teach in this suit? If so, don't worry about it—I'm not expecting you to, though you're welcome to try," He winked.

"No, it was nothing," Percy said, still grinning. He got up, continuing to press the icepack to his head. "It's time I started the lesson—where's Clint?"

"Oh, had some stuff to do." Tony said, waving the subject away. "And Rhodes has a meeting. And Vision's somewhere . . . not sure where, though. Might be surfing YouTube again—that's what happens when you're permanently connected to the web, you know."

Percy nodded absently, a little disappointed. He'd been looking forward to some friendly banter with Clint, and he hadn't forgotten how Rhodes had continually underestimated him when they first met. He'd wanted to show the man that he wasn't all talk. "Okay, well . . ." He motioned towards the middle of the room, deciding that he would use that area for the lesson.

"I can help with your lesson," Natasha offered. "You're going to need to take it easy with that head of yours." She nodded towards Percy's bruise.

If Percy didn't know any better, he'd say that Tony looked apprehensive.

. . .

Annabeth found her way up to the walkway that overlooked the gymnasium and stopped next to Wanda, watching as Percy went through the lesson. It looked like Tony had gained three more instructors; Natasha, Sam and Steve were now all pitching in, giving the billionaire a very comprehensive combat lesson as they mercilessly teased him in a way that only friends could. It looked as if the conflict between Steve and Tony had been put aside for the moment. Perhaps they had even talked it through.

Annabeth looked at Wanda, before turning her gaze back to Percy down below. "I'm sorry about the other day; I didn't mean to snap at you." She started, leaning her forearms against the railing of the walkway and lacing her fingers.

 _"No. Please, stay back."_ That's what Annabeth had said to Wanda two days ago, when Percy had had his asthma attack/flashback and Wanda had offered to help calm him before he injured himself. She'd said it in such a sharp voice that had it been a blade, it would have sheared metal. She'd been panicked then, feeling hemmed in by all of the Avengers while trying to keep the demigod world from being exposed.

Now however, significantly more calm and composed, Annabeth felt ashamed of her words. She didn't regret them; she would have said them again if it meant that she kept her world safe from prying eyes. But still; she knew how damaging those words could be.

Even in her early years, Annabeth had been pushed aside. Scorned. Mistreated. Her family hadn't understood her, and she'd had no friends to lighten that terrible burden. In those years, she'd developed a hard shell that eventually gave her the strength to run away. But creating that hard shell? It was painful. It hurt like hell, when she still believed that some semblance of heaven and hell existed, and knew nothing of the Underworld or Olympus. It was a path that was hard to step off of, a process that one couldn't stop on their own. And really, it only took a few words to put a person in that kind of position where the safest thing to do was push everyone away and decide that the world was a cold, lonely place and the only person you could trust was yourself.

 _"No. Please stay back."_ There had been so many word lying beneath that sharply spoken phrase. _I don't trust you. I don't understand you. You and your powers—they scare me._

 ** _Stay away._**

Annabeth knew the damage that those words could do. She didn't want to put another person through the same pain.

"That's okay," Wanda said in her thick accent, shrugging. "I understand. You were worried about your boyfriend—I would be panicking as well if I had been in your position."

"Your powers . . . they scare me," Annabeth admitted. There, she'd said it aloud.

Wanda looked down at her hands. Her nails were painted a scarlet red, and in her red leather outfit and black skirt, Annabeth was strangely reminded of Thalia. "I know. They scare a lot of people—they still do. But," she looked up, and Annabeth was surprised to see that she was now smiling faintly. "I also know that if one of those scared people decides to speak to me, despite their fear, then they're not like all of the other scared people, yes?"

"Yes," Annabeth agreed, smiling now.

The two girls fell into a comfortable silence, watching as the lesson continued on far beneath them on the gymnasium floor.

Halfway through the lesson, Tony called for a break (he was actually breaking a sweat, as opposed to his four instructors, who were all grinning and laughing). As he drained his metal water bottle, he looked up to Wanda and Annabeth.

"So Annabeth, Pepper and I have been doing some talking about when we should start planning for the new building additions at headquarters, and we agreed that 'as soon as possible' would be best. No rush, of course, but I'd rather get these additions done sooner than later. Do you have any important plans in the near future?"

"Well, I might . . ." Annabeth trailed off, knowing full well that she couldn't mention the anniversary to the Second Giant War, the many building projects currently in progress at Camp Half-Blood, or her architecture job at Mount Olympus.

"Because if not, then I'll sent you to California tomorrow and Pepper can start introducing you to Project Retreat over the next two weeks."

Annabeth choked. _"What?"_

Below her, in the middle of conversing with Steve, Percy whirled around, nearly losing his balance for a third time. "Wait, what'd you just say?"

"Oh, Project Retreat—that's what the project's called." Tony said, looking between the two of them.

* * *

Peter climbed the old, dirty stairs of the building, crossed a hall, and finally came before the apartment he shared with his Aunt May. Opening the door with a turn of his key, he stepped in.

"Hey Aunt May, do we have any plans on Saturday? I'm meeting with a friend and—" he stopped talking as he passed the living room and realized that there was someone else in the apartment besides his aunt.

Aunt May beamed. "Honey, you have to stop keeping secrets from me—you didn't tell me you got another scholarship!"

"What—uh, I . . ." Peter stuttered, knowing full well who sat next to his aunt.

Nick Fury stood up, giving a half-smile that made Peter swallow. "Hey Peter! Looks like we've got a lot to talk about, don't we?"

* * *

 **Voila! What do you think? Questions? Thoughts? Majority of reviews are currently being responded to via PMs.**

 **If you're simply looking for a good story to read, remember to check out "Rage against the dying of the light"!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **HaywireEagle: Please let me know why! Thanks.**

 **Guest (Guest; June 24th): Hopefully this chapter is more to your liking :)**

 **Anonymous (Guest; June 23rd): "One of the best" - really? That's great! And favor recognized :) I'm still reading the story, but as you've already pointed out, it is indeed very good.**


	20. Punishment by Death

**You know how, sometimes, you discover a new book or movie or TV show (especially TV show), and it's all you can think about for the next few days (and weeks)? Yeah, that's what happened to me. I decided to revisit Stargate SG-1. I'd watched a few episodes when I was younger, and then last week, I was wondering what had happened to the show. So I decided to find out. And now, I'm kind of . . . hooked? Watching episodes everyday, listening to the soundtrack, reading the books . . . yeah, I guess I'm slightly addicted. And that is why this update is coming rather late; because you don't want me writing PJO/Avengers when all I can think about is the Stargate and Colonel Jack O'Neill and Carter and Daniel and Teal'c . . . It's like when I first discovered Sherlock Holmes BBC, or Supernatural. It's . . . all-consuming.**

 **Anyways, sorry about the delay!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Previously, on TIW:DIW . . ._**

 ** _Percy and Annabeth visit Avengers Tower with the help of Tony, intending to break relations with him and the rest of the Avengers. On the way, they bump into Peter Parker, who recognizes Percy as the swimmer who defeated all of Midtown's competitors in several high school swim meets. Percy and Peter agree to meet on Saturday in Central Park, to play some basketball. Afterwards, Percy and Annabeth go to the Tower. However, upon receiving signs from both Athena and Poseidon indicating the gods' support of their relationship with the superheroes, Percy goes ahead with giving Tony a combat lesson. Meanwhile, Annabeth has a small discussion with Wanda._**

 ** _On Olympus, it is revealed that Zeus intends to use Percy and Annabeth as spies in order to ascertain why Thor is intruding on his domain once again. He orders both Athena and Poseidon to send a sign to their children indicating their support of the relationship between the demigods and the Avengers._**

 ** _Having returned to the apartment where he lives with his Aunt May, Peter discovers that he has a guest, Nick Fury, who is supposedly offering yet another scholarship._**

* * *

 **Punishment by Death**

 _Loki turned towards Volstagg, still holding the warrior's axe. "So, if I cannot kill you . . . whatever will I do with you?"_

"Accept that your illusion had been destroyed and return to Asgard to face retribution for your crimes," Volstagg growled, his face beet red from intoxication.

"Ah. Well see, that cannot happen." Loki gave him an apologetic look. "Perhaps . . . what if I were to tell dear Lady Sif and Hogun your history? Your own story—the tale of the doomed fate of your village and family."

Volstagg paled, his breath catching. "Y-you would not. You cannot."

"What should I call it?" Loki tilted his head, looking at Volstagg. "The Coward's Tale. Once, long ago, lived the Coward and his family. They fared happily as peasants, slaves only to the crops. Then, one day, as the Coward was returning home, raiders came and lay waste to his village. And what did the Coward do? Why, he ran in the opposite direction, of course!" Loki shouted, laughing lightly.

"Stop! Quiet!" Volstagg snarled, spittle flying in his rage. He staggered to his feet, Hel bent on seizing his weapon and loping off the trickster's head.

But Loki simply danced out of his reach, and Volstagg tripped on his own two feet, making an ungraceful landing on the hard, rocky ground.

Loki now regarded him with a calculating look. "It is fortunate that you did not have any children? I've heard it said that although babes are small, their deaths leave more blood on one's hands than that of a warrior in his prime."

Volstagg swallowed, trying to engulf the rising pain and guilt. "I could not have done anything; I was not even a warrior then."

"You could have died trying to save them!" Loki spat at his feet, as so many others had done back in the day. "And to think: by the end of today, all of your friends will know what kind of warrior you truly are."

Volstagg swallowed the fragments of his pride, and nearly bowed his head in his drunk helplessness. "Please, do not. Please." The fact that Thor already knew of his past life was terrible enough; Volstagg couldn't bear the thought of the rest of his friends learning the truth, as well. The identity that he had tried so hard to rebuild would be stripped away and through the bravery and courage, his cowardice and frailty would be revealed. He would be cast out of Asgard, exiled to Jotunheim—or worse, Svartalfheim.

Loki stopped pacing, his sharp eyes locking onto Volstagg's. "Then swear that you will tell no one of what you have learned in this visit to Vanaheim. Swear it on Valhalla."

It was said that if one broke a promise sworn on Valhalla, he would be forever denied entrance into its halls and instead sent to rot in Hel forever. Volstagg wondered if he was already destined for Hel, considering the crimes of cowardice that he had committed.

"I-I . . ." Volstagg was crumbling beneath the pressure, torn between the terror of being discovered as a coward and the terrible action of betraying his friends by keeping his mouth shut. "Fine. I swear. I swear."

"On what?" Loki asked quietly.

"I swear on Valhalla that I will tell no one what I have learned during this trip to Vanaheim." Volstagg said with tired resignation.

Loki beamed, and Volstagg swore that he saw a glint of something less than sane in his eyes. "Marvellous!"

. . .

By the time they returned to Asgard—as in, Volstagg returned through the Bifrost, while Loki went by more obscure channels, as he did not want to raise Heimdall's suspicions as to how his king was returning to Asgard when he had seemingly not left in the first place—Volstagg was beginning to awaken from his drunken stupor.

 _I swear on Valhalla that I will tell no one what I have learned during this trip to Vanaheim._ So many other promises had been made in those few words.

 _I swear I will tell no one that Loki is alive._

 _I swear I will tell no one that Loki is searching for the Stones._

 _I swear I will tell no one that the All-Father has been murdered, and that an imposter sits on Asgard's throne._

 _I swear I will tell no one that Ragnarök approaches._

Oh, dear Valhalla, what had he done?

* * *

When Nico descended into the Underworld, he didn't quite know what he was looking for: a few spartus with an attitude, perhaps a sign of restlessness among the long lines of the dead? Something to explain why rogue spartus were wandering around on the surface or why millions of birds had abruptly died.

He didn't find either, however. So he reluctantly turned to his final option: a conversation with his father.

By the time Nico made it to Hades' palace, he was reminded of why he disliked the Underworld:

There was no sun.

It used to be that the absence of the bright gas giant served to reinforce Nico's belief that the world was cold and unfair, and always would be. Anything bright and lively was temporary: happiness was a short flare of fire that inevitably died and laughter had an expiration date. The Underworld was reality—a world that was stripped of all illusions, dreams, and fantasies.

Then the Second Giant War happened, and everything changed.

In some ways, the war was the best thing that could've happened to Nico. No, not the part involving Tartarus—Nico shuddered inwardly. But befriending Jason, travelling with Renya and Coach Hedge . . .

Meeting Will Solace.

That's when Nico started missing the sun every time he took a trip down to the Underworld. There was no touch of a bright smile, no hint of his ridiculous grin. Even the fires that dotted the dark landscape were missing that energy and liveliness that drew Nico to Will, like a moth that had been starved of light for its entire life.

And so, looking up at his father's palace, all Nico could notice now was how the obsidian seemed to absorb everything that he had come to like and even perhaps *cough* love *cough*. Then the huge doors silently swung open and with a deep breath, Nico walked in. His footsteps echoing in the vast, silent spaces of the palace, he quickly made it to his father's throne room. Barely sparing a glance to the dozen skeleton warriors standing at attention by his father's gleaming obsidian throne, he knelt and bowed his head.

"Nico." His father addressed him in neutral tones.

Taking that as his sign to rise, he straightened. "Father."

Hades looked at him—or more specifically, his tanned skin, and sniffed with disapproval. "Frolicking in the sun, I see. Or perhaps, with that damned child of—"

"Father!" Nico's ears were tipped red, but that didn't stop the rebuke that snapped out. "Don't insult him. Don't insult," there was a little hitch, "my boyfriend."

Gods, he hoped his father hadn't caught his hesitation. It still felt weird to say aloud, despite all that he had done to try and become accustomed to the new level of intimacy that came with dating. _Dating_. . . damn it all to the Pit, even that word was difficult to think.

Hades gave a dark, amused smile, showing that he had indeed caught his hesitation. Surprisingly, however, he let go of the subject. "Very well. Why have you come down here? Surely you weren't desiring your dear father's company."

Sometimes, Nico wondered how this god, this man before him, could ever be his father. "No, I wasn't. I'm here on an entirely different matter." Ah, there it was—that clear sign that he was indeed his father's child. That bluntness, that indifference, that lack of familial love—all traits native to those in the Hades family tree.

"The birds, father. That, and several spartus have been spotted roaming topside, apparently rogue."

Hades blinked. If Nico didn't know better, he'd say that he'd taken his father by surprise. Except for the fact that he had never seen his father surprised before.

"Rogue?" Hades voice was dark and quiet. Nico hated when his father spoke like this—it made him feel on edge, like he was about to be attacked. "What do you mean?"

"As in, they don't seem to have a master. It's as if they were summoned, and then left to . . . left to their own devices." Nico had been about to say 'die', but that would've been incorrect; spartus couldn't just _die._ They had no need of sustenance, nor could they be worn down by fatigue. It took a child of the Underworld to kill a spartus.

"And you are coming to me because . . . ?"

"Because I was hoping you might have an idea as to why there are spartus in the first place," Nico said, hiding his frustration. He knew that his father was well aware of why he'd come; but it seemed that Hades was determined to corner his son into admitting that he required his help.

"Ah. Well, I see no problem here. You are dismissed."

Nico blinked. "What?"

Hades' eyes darkened and he pointed to the doors of his throne room. "I said, you are dismissed. Out." As if to mark his words, the dozen soviet skeleton warriors in the room raised their bayonets, and pointed them threateningly at Nico.

"But what about the spartus?" Nico nearly spluttered, except for the fact that he never spluttered. "And the birds?"

"A few wandering spartus? Child's play. I'm sure Artemis and her band of hunters could find a way to dispatch of them. And as for the birds," Hades' mouth twisted. "They are of no concern to me. I am not responsible for the deaths, as I am sure you are wondering. Now leave."

A near murderous look on Nico's face, the demigod stalked out of the throne room, feeling his father's black eyes boring into his back.

Once his son was out of sight, Hades summoned the Furies. He needed to investigate these supposedly 'rogue' spartus. He couldn't have done so in front of his son; revealing that he was not aware of the comings and goings of his many skeletons was a sure sign of weakness, and revealing such a sign to Nico was out of the question.

* * *

 _"Because if not, then I'll sent you to California tomorrow and Pepper can start introducing you to Project Retreat over the next two weeks."_

 _Annabeth choked. "What?"_

 _Below her, in the middle of conversing with Steve, Percy whirled around, nearly losing his balance for a third time. "Wait, what'd you just say?"_

 _"Oh, Project Retreat—that's what the project's called." Tony said, looking between the two of them._

Annabeth's mind raced for a moment, trying to comprehend what Tony had just said. "Tomorrow—you want me to leave by _tomorrow_?" Gods, just because she didn't have a job in the mortal world didn't mean she had no life.

Tony blinked, looking up at her on the walkway. "Well, we can wait a day or two if you'd like."

Next to him, Percy shook his head disbelievingly. "Yeah, that would be good."

"Three or four days would be even better," Annabeth murmured.

"Then tell him—he would'nt mind," Wanda whispered, still standing next to her. "He can be rude sometimes—well, a lot of times, actually—but he rarely notices when someone's being rude to him."

"Yes, but . . . I kind of want to leave now, at the same time." Annabeth reluctantly admitted, watching as Tony resumed his lesson with his four instructors.

"You have anything to do here in New York?" Wanda asked.

"Well, not much . . ." If you could call classes at Camp Half-Blood, cabin construction and her job on Olympus 'not much'. But oddly enough, she wanted a break from it all. She wanted to try something new while not having to worry about upsetting another god or goddess who disliked the cabin that had been built for their children. And of course, Kymopoleia, the goddess of violent sea storms, didn't want her cabin sitting next to the Iris cabin; her kids were complaining that there were too many rainbows and not enough violence and destruction. In fact, they wanted their cabin by the beach—and not on the sandy side. And the unbelievable number of arguments and fights between the Nike and Ares kids was enough to make Annabeth begin to consider putting the Nike cabin all the way on the other side of Camp, with a whole forest to separate the insufferably competitive demigods from the Ares cabin.

"Annabeth Chase," a deep, accented voice spoke from her right and she turned to see Thor Odinson at the end of the walkway. "We meet again."

Annabeth tried for a smile, remembering that they had agreed to attempt a friendship. "Hi Thor—it's good to see you again."

"You guys have met?" Wanda asked, slightly surprised.

"Yes, on Tuesday evening," Thor said, giving Annabeth an intent look. For a moment, she feared that he was about to spill everything. Then he said, "Friends of Tony Stark are always welcome as friends of mine. Especially friends who perform sacrifices—"

Annabeth closed her eyes. _Gods of Olympus, please help me . . ._

"—with food." Thor beamed.

Annabeth couldn't tell if he was intentionally trying to reveal her identity or was simply naïve in the manner with which humans (or Midgardians, whatever was the more proper term) kept secrets. Or maybe it was a cringe-worthy attempt at humour.

Wanda gave an uncertain laugh, unsure what to make of the Asgardian's strange statement. Annabeth shook her head at Wanda, giving her a look that said: _I'll explain later._

"Well, I'm not sure I would want to be acquainted with _all_ of Stark's friends," Wanda said finally.

Thor smiled faintly. "You are quite right, I suppose. Some of them are questionable."

Wanda lowered her voice, speaking to both Annabeth and Thor. "There was a time when Steve accidently accepted a call on Stark's phone, and it turned out to be a video call from one of Tony's ex-girlfriends . . ."

The trio traded stories until 5:00, when Annabeth reluctantly told her friends (it was fascinating how quickly one could make friends after only an hour of talking) that she had to leave. But before she could stop herself, she made a promise to stop by tomorrow afternoon. Later, she would realize that she genuinely enjoyed Wanda's company, and had unconsciously chosen the mortal over her demigod friends.

"That would great!" Wanda gave an appreciative smile. "Sometimes, there's just too much testosterone going around."

"I have a great deal of testosterone, do I not?" Thor seemed to puff out his chest, standing taller. "As all Asgardian men do. It is what gives us strong children."

Behind Thor's back, Wanda stuck her finger in her mouth, gagging. Annabeth kept a straight face, choosing to look down below instead.

Watching those four men (well, if you could ever consider Percy to be a man), Annabeth recognized how much self-confidence and stature Natasha must possess to be able to stand on her own two feet in such a patriarchal group. In that moment, she sympathized with Wanda's situation; there was no one else of her own age group in the Avengers, and only one other woman to talk to.

The entire group made their way to the room adjoining the gymnasium, and as they walked, Annabeth hurried over to Tony.

"Made up your mind?" Tony asked, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"I'd like a day to make my decision—can I let you know tomorrow? We're coming to visit in the afternoon." Annabeth said.

Beside her, Percy blinked. "Um, we are?"

"Yeah, sure! Take your time," Tony said, giving her a reassuring smile that looked almost fatherly, if not for the fact that Tony didn't seem capable of fatherly gestures.

"Thank you." Annabeth let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least she had some breathing room now. She gestured to Percy, saying, "We should get going now."

Tony raised his hand in goodbye as they left the room. "Maybe you can give another 'combat' lesson tomorrow, Percy!" He called after him.

"As long as you add that to the cheque," Percy joked, grinning.

"Hey, does that mean we get paid, as well?" Sam asked, turning to Tony. "Teaching you that roundhouse kick was worth 50 bucks, at least."

"Teaching?" Steve frowned. "You call kicking me in the stomach 'teaching'?"

Percy heard Sam wave it away with an excuse about Steve's enhanced healing capabilities, and then the doors closed behind them and the conversation became nothing but muffled sounds—indignant muffled sounds, one feels it is pertinent to note.

"Home?" Percy asked.

"Home." Annabeth agreed.

It was fortunate that Annabeth had brought along her Yankees cap, otherwise they would have had a hell of a time trying to circumvent the still-present mass of reporters and news vans parked outside the Tower. And the cab driver didn't stop frowning at the two of them from his rear view mirror, clearly wondering why two very well-dressed teenagers were paying him to drive them to the middle of nowhere. But it all paid off when they finally found themselves at the top of Half-Blood Hill, looking down upon the familiar hustle and bustle of demigods spread across the countryside.

Annabeth spoke what she knew was on both of their minds. "It feels weird, going back and forth."

Percy understood. "Like we're somehow . . ."

"Betraying them." Annabeth pursed her lips. Sneaking around her fellow demigods, hiding certain details about where she went and who she met.

"But we're not," Percy pointed out, as if the matter were simple enough. "We're making friends, just like any other person. And even the gods support us."

"But _why_?" Annabeth's frustration with not understanding finally made itself known. "If the gods are getting involved, then something's going on, Percy. Poseidon and Athena both agreeing on something _and_ sending us signs while we're hanging around mortals? Admit it: that's never happened before."

Annabeth was right. It hadn't. "Maybe . . . what if _he_ ordered them to," Percy said, nodding up towards the sky. Lord Thunderpants, Drama Queen Numero Dos, married to Drama Queen Numero Uno. He didn't say that aloud, of course; he didn't want to be struck down by a vengeful lightning bolt.

"Or maybe he doesn't know about it at all," Annabeth pointed out, her voice dropping instinctively.

The two of them fell silent at that. They were both aware that tensions were mounting on Olympus as more gods called for equal rights; Annabeth's architecture job had its perks.

"Percy, Annabeth!"

The two demigods turned to see Piper walking towards them, looking slightly worried. On her shoulder, Screech regarded Percy with sharp golden eyes before she hopped onto Annabeth's shoulder.

Piper pushed some stray hairs out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. She wasn't worried, Percy realized. She was nervous; she continually bit her lip and looked over her shoulder towards the . . . Big House. "Grover's been looking for you guys for hours—you should go talk to him. He and Chiron are waiting in the Big House."

"What's wrong?" Annabeth asked, already walking down the hill.

Piper shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know, but it's not good."

Percy and Annabeth traded a worried look before they both sprinted for the Big House, Screech flapping her wings in indignation.

. . .

Chiron and Grover were both in deep discussion when Percy and Annabeth barged into the room, already having cooked up several dozen scenarios, each one worse than the last.

"What's wrong?" Percy asked. "Is it Nico? Has he come back from the Underworld yet? Or wait, is this about the Avengers? Because I swear that we didn't tell them—"

Chiron raised a hand to stop the tirade. "Percy, my boy, calm down." He gestured to the seats set around the table and turned his wheelchair to face them. "Sit, both of you."

Minds still racing, Percy and Annabeth took a seat at the round table as Screech hopped off to perch on the back of another chair. Annabeth couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be a distinct line that divided the table; she and Percy sat on one side, while Grover and Chiron sat on the other. Or maybe it was just her imagination.

"What's going on, Grover?" Percy looked to his best friend. He tried to lighten the mood. "Juniper find out that that blueberry bush tried to make a move on you again?"

Grover gave a nervous bleat, while Annabeth shook her head at Percy in warning. _So not the time, Percy . . ._

Chiron laced his fingers, looking at the two of them with a frown. "It's been brought to my attention that you met the Asgardian Thor Odinson on Tuesday."

 _It's been brought to my attention . . ._ Annabeth's brow creased with confusion before she realized what was wrong and nearly did a face palm.

They'd forgotten to tell Chiron about meeting Thor and the following battle between him and the nature spirits. It had completely slipped her and Percy's minds. After going to Avengers Tower, meeting The Tony Stark and the rest of the team, getting a job at Stark Industries, and having Percy fall off the Tower while in the midst of a flashback, the small discussion with the Asgardian had become entirely forgotten the next morning.

Looking at Percy's face, she knew that he had also realized their mistake.

"I'm sorry Chiron, we totally forgot." Percy shook his head, still a little shocked that he could've forgotten something like that. "But he's not our enemy; not anymore, anyways. We, uh—well actually, Annabeth did a little peacemaking and it's all cool between us now. The treaty's not a problem anymore . . . wait, do you know about the treaty? The one where . . . ?"

Grover shook his head even as Chiron spoke. "Yes, I'm well aware of the treaty that was forged between the Olympians and Asgardians, Percy. That's not quite the main problem, however." Chiron sighed. "Tell me what happened that night, including everything involving the nymphs."

Percy traded a glance with Annabeth, and then she began to speak. "Well, after our parents visited us in our dreams . . ."

. . .

For a moment after Annabeth finished recounting the events of Tuesday night (events which led into early Wednesday morning), nobody spoke. Then Chiron unlaced his fingers and leaned back in his wheelchair.

"Grover, please tell Percy and Annabeth what happened Wednesday night."

Grover licked his lips nervously. "I was in Central Park, helping with the clean up effort."

Annabeth nodded, having heard of the Council of Cloven Elders preparing a plan to address the 'bird apocalypse', as many had taken to calling the phenomenon.

"Querci approached me to lodge a complaint. Percy, Annabeth . . ." Grover looked the two of them in the eye, taking a deep breath. "She's accusing you of treason."

The words took a moment to sink in.

Percy cleared his throat. "What?"

"When you talked with Thor—"

"You're saying that we committed treason because we _spoke_ to someone?" Percy asked, annoyed.

Chiron sighed. "Percy, you must understand: Thor is regarded by the majority of the Wild community as an enemy."

Grover nodded. "He's killed countless dryads, harnessed the power of wind nymphs on an unbelievable number of occasions without permission, and polluted miles of European waters."

"Grover, any CEO of an oil company could be accused of the same thing," Annabeth pointed out.

"Yeah, but no human has ever disregarded a request made by a nymph like Querci," Grover said. His fingers fidgeted, as if he wanted to get his hands on a good piece of aluminum to snack on and ease his worries. "Guys, Querci is . . . you might as well consider her an honorary member of the Council of Cloven Elders, because that's how powerful she is. The fact that you, two Greek demigods with a history of fighting for Olympus, chose to speak to an enemy of the Wild instead of back Querci up . . . you literally turned your back on her. Chose foe over friend. And now that you've actually developed a friendship with Thor . . ." Grover shook his head, looking the grimmest Percy had seen him in a long time. "Querci's not going to take an apology now—she wants both of you convicted of treason."

"Off with our heads," Annabeth murmured.

"Not necessarily." Chiron said, frowning heavily. "It has been several centuries since the last time an accusation of treason was presented to the Cloven Elders; I suspect that the Council is now treading on unfamiliar ground."

"But they'll still go through with it?" Percy asked, disbelieving. "After _everything_ we've done for Olympus?"

Grover bit his lip. "Percy, don't you understand? The gods have no say in this—this is all based in the Wild community. Unless the gods have something to personally gain from all this, I doubt they're going to say anything. Even Lord Dionysus wouldn't risk getting involved."

As if Mr. D would bother to lift a hand to help Percy. "And you can't do anything about it? Somehow stop Querci?"

Annabeth pursed her lips. "We know that Thor's done a lot of damage, and we'll try to get him to see that, but . . ."

"He's not our enemy anymore," Percy said, trying to stress the importance of that statement. "Querci has to see that."

Grover shook his head in frustration. "No, I can't. She's essentially pulling rank on me, Percy. With the full backing of the nymphs in Central Park and who knows who else, there's not much I can do."

"So Querci's running the show," Annabeth sighed.

Grover nodded. "I've called a meeting with the rest of the Elders, and Querci is requesting an audience with us for tonight. She wants both of you there." Grover said, nodding to both Annabeth and Percy.

"Oh, great," Percy muttered.

It was at that moment that Annabeth realized that everything she had planned with Tony was coming to an ear-screeching halt. There was no way she could leave New York now—not with the kind of accusations Querci was levelling at them. She felt like the time when she was trying to build her first arch on Olympus; a purely decorative arch with absolutely purpose but to put her stamp on the land. It went from a time-consuming yet pleasurable task to one that incurred massive headaches and left her ears ringing as she attempted to appease all of the gods in their requests and complaints. She had been tugged in all directions, her attempts at progress continually frustrated by yet another demand from Ares that the arch be dipped in pig's blood, or a reminder from Aphrodite that the arch be a symbol of purity—"white as a dove!", she sang.

And now, the same thing was happening again, albeit under completely different circumstances. Every attempt to build a life beyond Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter was being foiled by one thing after another. First, it was the war with the titans. Then came the giants. And then, of course, it was the gods warning her to stay away from the Avengers. And now, Querci. Who was next? Her father? Or gods forbid, Percy?

Annabeth immediately felt ashamed for thinking that. That wasn't fair of her. Her mind was becoming skewed from her frustration.

"We'll figure it out," Annabeth promised, trying to make up for her incriminating thoughts.

Percy gave his customary grin, the one that always managed to push away the clouds, if only for a brief moment. "We always do."

. . .

The meeting came all too soon. The Council of Cloven Elders convened in their usual small clearing within the forest, but it quickly became clear to dryad spectators that this was not the usual meeting. A lone tree nymph stood on one side of the clearing, her golden eyes drilling into Percy's, who stood on the opposite side with Annabeth. Between the two parties, the four Elders sat in small thrones that grew straight out from the ground, like trees.

"Grover has told us everything surrounding the situation." Milenos began in a deep, booming voice that few satyrs were gifted with, effectively starting the meeting.

"Lady Querci, if you would state your expected punishment for the crime of treason." Vasius said, looking to the tall nymph.

Annabeth knew at once that she and Percy were at a disadvantage. Clearly, the Council was biased in the matter—how could she expect them to be otherwise, when a nymph older than all of them combined was standing in the same clearing as them. And to make matters worse, Querci had willingly come here, all the way from Central Park. Evidently, her trip from Ancient Greece to America had lent her the ability to go far further from her tree than your average dryad. The power that this dryad clearly possessed was swaying the Council to her side.

'Disadvantage'. The very fact that Annabeth was now regarding Querci as her enemy made her sick to her stomach. Never before had she gotten into a serious confrontation with a nature spirit. They'd always proved to be good friends and allies, even if they were a little unreliable at times, and insufferable gossips.

The oaken dryad lifted her chin, looking all the more like a regal fairy as she glowed a faint green in the dying light of the day. "Death."

Annabeth felt her throat constrict, and she forced herself to remain still. Next to her, Percy didn't even stir. Of course, she should have known. Querci was old school; there was really no other punishment that would suffice. Watching the Elders, she noticed that all of their eyes widened. Clearly, they hadn't expected it. Maybe they hadn't even realized the seriousness of the situation; after all, the last time accusations of treason were made before the Council, satyrs still walked around buck naked and arranged marriages were all the rage.

"Counsellors, if I may speak?" Annabeth asked formally.

"Of course." Maron, another of the Elders, nodded to her quickly, as if to dispel the terrible silence that had fallen upon hearing Querci's words.

"Thor Odinson has caused you great pain, Querci." Annabeth looked at the oaken dryad, unflinching. "I see that now, and I apologize that I didn't know it before. I'd like to stop the deaths, just as you would. Don't you think that becoming allies with the Asgardian, rather than continuing to label him as the enemy, would stop the deaths sooner? We can show him the destruction that he's caused—force him to understand the havoc that he's wreaked."

"He will never understand!" Querci snapped coldly. "He will never learn! That beast has terrorized my sisters and I for too long, and we have paid the price for our silence." Her eyes narrowed into slits, and Annabeth was reminded of a tiger, a predator just waiting to pounce. "Do not claim to understand our pain, Annabeth Chase. You foolish demigods play in your safe camp, protected by your magical boundaries, and yet, when you walk across our territory, you claim to understand our pain." Querci's gaze turned icy cold. "You have been coddled for too long to understand, and now, you will pay for your ignorance. You would befriend the beast? Very well. Just as the beast faces certain death, so must you."

Her ringing voice echoed through the forest, and the trees around them stirred, as if showing their assent.

Maron coughed, clearing his throat. "Let us break for a moment, and reconvene in 5 minutes."

Annabeth blinked. That had to be a record time for calling a break. They hadn't even been talking for a good two minutes.

"No." Querci's voice cut through the Elder's order, effectively terminating it. A stunned silence fell upon the clearing. "We have done much for you demigods," the dryad said with a hard edge to her voice, her gaze still on Annabeth's. "Sacrificed tree and limb for your wars. And yet, when the time came to lend aid to your dryad allies, you chose to support the enemy. That is beyond unacceptable; that is _treason._ And you must pay the price."

Milenos moistened his lips. For once, it seemed that his great, tuba-like voice was failing him. "Lady Querci, they are the _heroes of Olympus_. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase have saved our world numerous times the past several years, all in the service of Olympus. I cannot—"

"Their crime is not against the Olympians," Querci overrode the Elder once more. "Their crime is against the Wild. They were chosen to receive Pan's last blessing. They are close friends with a member of your very council," Querci swung her golden gaze towards Grover, who swallowed ever so discreetly. "Their continual support of the Wild should and must be expected. And yet, they _chose_ to begin relations with Odinson. That. Is. Unacceptable." Querci gave a burning glare to all the Elders, who remained silent. "And yet, you will do nothing about it? Very well. Perhaps the gods will listen to reason." Querci whirled around, stalking out of the clearing and fading into the forest, her final words ringing through the trees.

* * *

 **Voila! Thoughts? Questions?**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **sbayless44:** _Hopefully you got my PM?_

 **random reviewer:** _Yeah, I was in a pretty good mood when I was writing the chapter. Unfortunately, the humour isn't something I can always do - have to be in the perfect mood . . ._

 **Silvarulez:** _Thanks!_

 **Guest (I'm assuming you're Achievement . . . ?):** _Haha, yeah, I don't what came over me, but the humour just kept coming. It's an on and off thing, unfortunately. No problem! The author deserves the credit._


	21. Blackmail 101

**Phew, super busy week! Not going to go into the details, so enjoy the chapter, and if you've got time, leave a review!** **(My shortest A/N yet? Possibly). Oh, and I've gotten reviews and hints that the plot seems to be rather . . . slow. It's one of the things I've got to work on as a writer - dragging things out is what I excel at, unfortunately - so this chapter is kind of a test vehicle for a more concise (yet still paragraph-littered) plot, I suppose. Let me know what you think!**

 **Funny thing I wanted to cover - I never intended for Querci to become as important as she has now, and I certainly didn't expect people to take such a disliking to her. I'm not disappointed or anything - it's actually kind of funny, but awesome, to see that a non-canon character has taken a life of its own.**

 **Guess the A/N wasn't as short as I initially planned it to be.**

 **Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Previously on TIW:DIW . . ._

 _Under pressure from Loki, Volstagg swears on Valhalla that he will tell no one of what he's learned while in Vanaheim._

 _Nico visits his father in the hopes of learning why sparti are roaming around, and why the bird apocalypse happened._

 _Annabeth promises Tony that she will return tomorrow (Friday) to let him know if she's able to go to the headquarters of Stark Industries in Los Angeles for two weeks, to learn the ropes of her new job, which involves helping set up Project Retreat. Afterwards, she and Percy return to camp to find out that Querci has brought the matter of treason to the Council of Cloven Elders. In the ensuring meeting, the oaken dryad demands that the two demigods be put to death for their crimes against the Wild. However, the Elders are reluctant to do so, because of the many services Percy and Annabeth have done for the Olympians. A furious Querci leaves, hinting that she will turn to the gods for help._

* * *

 **Blackmail 101**

 _Aunt May beamed. "Honey, you have to stop keeping secrets from me—you didn't tell me you got another scholarship!"_

 _"What—uh, I . . ." Peter stuttered, knowing full well who sat next to his aunt._

 _Nick Fury stood up, giving a half-smile that made Peter swallow. "Hey Peter! Looks like we've got a lot to talk about, don't we?"_

"Uh, um, yeah . . . I-well," Peter struggled to gather his bearings after the shock of seeing the former director of SHIELD sitting in his living room. For some strange reason, he had a sudden urge to step in front of his aunt.

"Why don't we talk more about this in your room?" Fury offered. That faint smile on his face still hadn't faded. However, the wraparound shades on the man's face and his formal suit didn't comfort Peter. He looked like a far more dangerous version of Will Smith from Men in Black. If the MIB agent could kill freaky, giant aliens with a Tri Barrel Plasma gun, then Peter didn't want to know what Fury could do with the backing of Stark Industries _and_ the Avengers.

Peter swallowed. "Yeah, sure." Giving a forced smile to his aunt, he led the way to his room. The moment they were both inside, Fury closed the door with a resounding click.

"Damn suit," Fury said, picking at the collar of the blazer. "Never liked them." And indeed, the man looked rather uncomfortable in the outfit; it was as if the clothing tamed him, restricting his movements and wrapping his intimidating presence in cotton and polyester.

Peter gave the presently occupied man a wary look, on high alert for any sudden movements. Looking a lot braver than he felt, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Fury looked up, raising an eyebrow. "That's how you greet people? Kid, you gotta work on saying 'hello'. And can't I just stop by for a friendly visit? You bein' Stark's protégé and all."

"P-protégé?" Peter stuttered, trying to keep his surprise hidden. "You mean Tony Stark? _The_ Tony Stark? I—"

"Cut the crap, kid." Fury nailed him with a look that killed whatever stammered explanation he'd been about to give. "I know all about your relationship with Stark. Suspected it for a while now, actually. Who would have ever guessed: Iron Man, adoptive father of Spider-Man." Fury chuckled.

Peter kept his breathing in check, trying not to panic. "You're not here for a 'friendly visit'."

Peter was smart enough to know that Fury wasn't here to say hello, let alone take a leaf out of Tony's book and give a scholarship. He had heard enough from Tony to know that Fury was just as likely to double cross someone as lend them a helping hand. The very fact that this man knew about his relationship with Tony _and_ that he was Spider-Man was devastating. His entire cover was blown. But how did he find out?

Peter thought Fury might pull a gun on him for talking back. But the man simply shrugged, sitting down on his bed.

Peter made himself a reminder to burn the sheets afterwards.

"You got me," Fury conceded, looking around the room. "This isn't a social call. Nice guardian you got there, though. Hard to believe she's your aunt. Terrible cook, however. But I guess the same could be said of me." He gave a small laugh.

Peter had a skewed flash of déjà vu. It was like meeting Tony Stark for the first time, all over again, except the mood was all wrong. He wasn't shocked wordless from awe, nor did he feel an impending approach of a grand adventure. No. He was shocked wordless by a growing panic and fear, and only an impending doom neared on the horizon. Fury's mention of Aunt May only enhanced Peter's inexplicable belief that he needed to protect her from the danger that lurked within this man.

"Did Tony send you here?" Peter asked, his tone taking on a demanding edge. Nothing took the stutter out of his voice like a threat to himself or his aunt.

"Stark?" Fury seemed amused by the idea of Tony ordering him around. "Well, you see, I'm not here on his behalf. This is more a personal matter, though it could become much bigger, depending."

"Depending on what?"

"How well your spying skills are, kid."

Peter blinked, wondering if he'd heard wrong. "Spying?"

"Yes, spying. I need you to spy on someone for me."

Peter's shocked-sluggish brain tried to keep up with Fury. "Spying? Y-you want me to _spy_ on someone? Are you crazy? I've never spied on anyone in my life! And why the hell should I do anything for you?" Peter could feel adrenaline pumping through him, fueled by indignation and the still terrible reality that his cover was blown.

Fury finally removed his shades, looking at Peter squarely with his one eye, the other covered by a black patch. "Oh, you'll do it, kid. You got no choice."

Peter balled up his fists, clenching his jaw. "I've got plenty of choices." Like kicking Fury out of the apartment—and not through the front door. He also had his web shooters on at the moment; he rarely took them off, even while in the shower. You never knew when you needed a couple of good webs. And right now, sticking Fury to the door was looking very appealing. "And who are you trying to spy on anyways? Isn't that a crime, intruding on someone's privacy?"

Fury shrugged, clearly unconcerned. "Privacy goes out the window when it comes to national security, kid. All those laws passed to safeguard a citizen's privacy? That's BS. The government loves its surveillance too much. You'd probably find me guilty of the same thing."

Unable to help himself, Peter spent a precious few seconds trying to think if he had anything incriminating or embarrassing in his internet history. All those sketchy pop-ups and advertisements . . . Peter banished them from his mind. "Who are you trying to spy on?" He asked again.

Fury looked at him, unblinking. "Percy Jackson."

Peter tried not to stare in his surprise. "W-what?"

Fury caught his strange reaction. "You know him?"

"Well, I . . ." I'm going to play basketball with him on Saturday, Peter nearly said. But he stopped himself in time, quickly coming to a conclusion: the less info he gave Fury, the better. But why the hell did Fury want to spy on Percy? Did he somehow know that he'd already come across Percy and had his own inklings as to the abilities that he possibly possessed? "I've heard of him from school swim meets. He's, um, a really good swimmer." Peter finished with an anticlimax.

Appearing to accept his explanation, Fury nodded. "Yes, well, I need you to befriend him."

. . .

Fury knew what he was doing. Security involving the Avengers was paramount. The team was one of SHIELD's lasting legacies, and Earth's first and last defence. The fact that Percy had been a suspect of terrorism when he was 12 and was now Stark's instructor was far too suspicious for comfort, even if he had been found innocent eventually. Fury needed to make sure that Percy didn't pose any kind of risk to the team. Having the Avengers' best interests at heart was what Stark essentially paid him to do, after all. So while manipulating and blackmailing Peter Parker, a boy that Stark had apparently taken under his wing, was certainly not something the billionaire would approve of, it would at least ensure that the Avengers were not vulnerable to any security risks, and that was all Fury cared for.

He couldn't spy on Percy himself. He was no longer the director of a massive shadow organization that had millions of resources to draw upon; he was the employee of a private organization that ran on technology manufactured and maintained by Stark Industries. If he used Stark's satellite too many times for too many obscure reasons, or ran background checks on strangers, someone was bound to notice eventually.

And he couldn't ask one of the several ex-military workers that he currently worked alongside with in the service of the Avengers to spy on Percy; he'd seen too many missions hit the fan because of an officer's stupid decision to have a 30 year old agent spy on a teenager. All that ever ended up happening was the agent's cover being blown as he was arrested on criminal harassment charges.

Peter, however, was the perfect agent. Inexperienced perhaps, but he had two things on his side that very few other agents possessed. For one, he was young. Younger than Percy, in fact. It immediately endeared him to the older boy, if he played it right, of course. It was the perfect cover for Peter to get close with Percy and perhaps discover if the kid posed any threat to Stark and/or the rest of the Avengers. They could hang out, play some video games—whatever kids their age did in their free time. Secondly, Peter was Spider-Man. He possessed a degree of stealth that had even undermined Fury's ability to detect uninvited guests and eavesdroppers, if only for a short time. He could follow Percy if need be, rather than a middle-aged man in civilian clothing who made one think, "Perv."

It was unfortunate that this was his first interaction with New York's famous web-slinger. Under other circumstances, Fury might have extended an invitation to Peter to officially join the Avengers. It couldn't be helped, however. The Avengers couldn't know of any of this, for several reasons. One, Percy could very well turn out to be your average 17-nearly-18 year old, in which case Fury didn't want to raise any alarms. If the Avengers found out, there was a high chance that reporters would be close behind, and if the media were to get their grimy little hands on this, it would turn into a PR nightmare. Civilians would never understand the thought process he went through to conclude that using a teenager to spy on another teenager was best. And of course, Tony wouldn't be too happy if he were to find out that Fury had used one of his new friends to spy on another of his new friends, while also using his satellite beyond authorized purposes.

Peter shook his head, as if not believing his ears. "Befriend Percy Jackson? You want me to make friends with a kid that I've never met, and spy on him?"

Fury gave him a level look. "Yes."

. . .

"Why?" Peter asked. "What's so great about him?"

"None of your business," Fury said curtly.

"And I'm going to do this for you because . . . ?"

Fury gave him a hard look. "Because if you don't, I'll tell the world who Spider-Man really is."

Peter's eyes widened. "Wha—you can't do that! That's blackmail!"

Fury laughed. "Yes, it is. And I certainly can—I'm doing it now, aren't I?" He shrugged. "You've got a lot to learn, Peter. Blackmail is handy."

Peter was at a loss for words. In the last six months as Spider-Man, his dealings with bad guys had gone over relatively smoothly. An innumerable number of bullets had been dodged, and the odd punch was nursed away. But now, in a terrible twist of irony, here was one of the good guys, holding a figurative gun to his head, and Peter had no idea what to do.

"We'll meet twice a week—no more than necessary. If a word of this gets out to anybody, like Stark, the world learns Spider-Man's true identity," Fury said, delivering the threat as normally as if they were having a friendly conversation. "If you see anything abnormal regarding Percy, you tell me." Fury gave him a look, as if he'd know if Peter withheld information from him. "Let's say, the next time you drop by Stark's Tower, you give me an update. Sound good?" Peter didn't answer, so Fury continued. "I'll admit, this isn't how I wanted to meet you, kid. Maybe I'll make it up to you afterwards."

Peter still didn't respond.

"Well, I'd better get going. Until next time, Peter." Fury raised his hand in farewell, before opening the door of his room and leaving. He heard the man and his aunt speaking for a moment, and then the apartment door opened and closed. The apartment fell silent.

 _Until next time, Peter._

Flash used to say that to him sometimes, while passing him in the hallway at school. He was a bully, just like Fury.

Peter hated bullies. Fury thought that he was going to spy for him? Think again.

* * *

"You have to go," Percy said, almost pleading, except for the fact that he never pleaded.

"No."

"I can—"

"No."

"But—"

"No!" Annabeth abruptly stopped and whirled around, annoyed now. "Percy, do you how serious this is? Gods, she wants us condemned to death! And you want me to take a vacation? What are you, seaweed brained?" She shook her head in disbelief, already stalking away.

"Annabeth—" Percy hurried after her, making the risky move of planting himself right in her path, and grabbed her shoulders lightly. "Annabeth!"

"Percy—" Her grey eyes flashed dangerously.

"Look, you've wanted this forever—and you're just going to throw it all away now?" Percy asked, disbelieving. Annabeth opened her mouth to say something, but in an uncharacteristic move, he overrode her. "This is the once-in-a-lifetime chance you've been waiting for! Take it! Please?" He looked her in the eye, his gaze softening. " _Please_? Go to LA—let me deal with Querci and the rest of the nymphs."

Annabeth scoffed. "And how are you going to do that? The nymphs aren't like the sharks or the hippocampi, Percy—you can't just kiss and make up and become friends!"

"They are like the dolphins, though," Percy pointed out. "Always chattering, fighting and gossiping. How hard can it be?" At Annabeth's appalled look, Percy held up his hands. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I can handle this, promise. As long as you promise to take Tony's offer and go to Los Angeles."

Percy knew how important this was to her; gods, how many hours had she spent preaching about the world's most distinguished architects and works? She never looked at Percy with the same kind of star-struck gaze that possessed her when she talked about Archimedes or some other ancient Greek dude. Was he jealous that his girlfriend seemed to love a dead guy's work more than him sometimes? Maybe. But that wasn't going to stop him from encouraging her to finally begin her life's dream.

Annabeth looked hesitant, torn between her duties as a demigod and the goal she'd worked towards for her entire life.

"Trust me," Percy said, looking at her with his most serious expression. "Just trust me."

Annabeth looked at him, and finally gave a slow nod. "Okay. But don't screw it up," she said, only half teasing.

Percy gave his trademark lopsided grin. "Never."

Two weeks later, he'd look back on this day and wonder how everything could have gone to Hades so fast.

* * *

 _Querci gave a burning glare to all the Elders, who remained silent. "And yet, you will do nothing about it? Very well. Perhaps the gods will listen to reason." Querci whirled around, stalking out of the clearing and fading into the forest, her final words ringing through the trees._

 _. . ._

"Lord Zeus, hear me now!" Querci's powerful voice rang through the sprawling forest of Central Park. Everywhere, dryads awakened within their trees, while naiads emerged from the reserves and wind nymphs whistled down, all of them drawn to the voice that dared to call upon the Olympians.

"I have served Olympus for the entirety of my long life, without complaint nor demand of compensation!" Querci continued, looking up at the darkening sky. "And now, I ask just one thing of you: bring justice to my brethren and I, and strike down the demigods who have wronged us!"

All the surrounding nymphs traded shocked looks and gasps, before turning their faces as one to the sky and waiting with bated breath. Surely the king of the gods could not ignore such a request; not when two Greek demigods (Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, no less) were found to be fraternizing with one of the Wild's greatest enemies. An enemy that Lord Zeus should greatly dislike as well.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes . . .

They waited for six hours. Six silent hours in which not a nymph stirred. The white dresses of the wind nymphs gave only the rare flutter, while hundreds of pairs of vibrant green and blue eyes stared unblinking at the darkening sky. Never again would one observe Central Park's forest and waters to be so still and dead. Even the mortals who walked along her trails and beneath her boughs were unnerved, feeling a strange chill linger upon their skin that was hastily explained away by the customary hauntings of the park. Joggers picked up their pace amid the frenzied bark of skittish dogs, picnics were brought to a close, and couples turned around. Covers were pulled over baby strollers, pickpockets abandoned the call of glittering watches and treasure-laden wallets, and the entire array of daily nature watchers heard the absence of chirping song birds and chittering squirrels, and retreated with an inexplicable unease.

They waited until midnight. Midnight, long after even the most thick-headed of mortals recognized that it would be unwise to take a stroll in New York's iconic park. The faint blue, green, and white glows of the waiting nymphs were nothing compared to the blazing golden eyes of Querci as she looked at the night sky with defiance.

The dryad's icy voice shattered the still silence. "Very well." Querci turned to face her sister nymphs. "It appears that Lord Zeus dares to deny us our justice!"

Not a nymph dared to breathe as one thought crossed all of their minds: did Querci just openly express her frustration with the gods?

But it appeared that the dryad did not care. She only looked to the night sky one last time, and declared:

"Let the annals mark this as the day the Olympians forsook the Wild!"

* * *

"And how long do you plan to ignore the nymphs?" Demeter snapped, her customary mild temper gone as she confronted her brother in a heated dispute.

"As long as required," Zeus responded, unfazed by the goddess' anger. "Granting Querci's wish, even if it were a punishment lighter than death, would prevent Percy and Annabeth from discovering the true reason as to why Thor Odinson has re-entered our domain."

 _Your domain_ , Demeter wanted to retort. _Not our domain, but yours_. All Zeus seemed to care for was power and territory. The concerns of the people never became an issue of his, unless a beautiful maiden was involved or if divine intervention resulted in his own personal gain. He was disregarding the nymphs and their pleas, just as he did with the majority of mortals.

"You cannot ignore the fact that Thor Odinson has committed grave crimes against the Wild community," Athena pointed out. "Ignoring the nymphs could result in an uprising, and the Wild has suffered enough already this past week," the goddess finished, hinting at the bird apocalypse.

None of the gods knew what to make of the phenomenon, and that made them uneasy; evidently, the Olympians had had no hand in the deaths of millions of birds, for none of them had come forward to claim the action as their own. But if not them, then who? Who was powerful enough, and brash enough, to do such a thing? And what were their intentions? Did they find death amusing, or were they making a statement?

Usually, if Artemis was not already on the case, Zeus would give the moon goddess the task of finding and destroying the threat. In collaboration with a vision or prophecy given by her twin Apollo, the hunters of Artemis were a formidable adversary. At the moment, however, Artemis was still absent, having defied her father's summons once again, and Apollo's dusty throne stuck out like a bronze coin amid a heap of gold.

And so the gods were, in a way, handicap. Not that Zeus would dare to admit it, however.

"Let the dryads throw their tantrum fit." Zeus rumbled. Nobody noticed as one of the grapes on Dionysus' vine-covered throne immediately ripened to a dark, raucous red. "Once they come to their senses, I will consider speaking with them."

"And what of serving justice for the crimes Odinson has committed?" Hera asked, attempting to make up for her husband's less than satisfactory response.

"Justice will be served when I find out the Asgardian's true intentions for returning," Zeus responded, turning a warning glare in her direction.

Demeter controlled her temper, giving a tolerant smile. "Of course, brother."

Poseidon remained stoic, his face impassive, while Dionysus was the picture of indifference, lounged back in his throne with a bored expression.

The raucous red grape burst, its guts splattering quietly.

* * *

 **Thoughts? Questions?**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Anonymous:** _Hey, so sorry about my response to your last review! I keep getting mixed up between you and Achievement, because your usernames both start with 'A', and I felt so bad when I realized my mistake . . . So very sorry!_

 **Dar Losh:** _Hey! No, no worries! I completely understand - I just told someone recently, I think I'm as busy now as I was while in school! If you need help with getting an account, just let me know and I'll see what I can do :) Lol, sorry about that - I won't be changing the pairing, but I'll try to keep all that stuff out in future chapters._

 **Dani:** _Thank you for the info! Sparti will be used in all future chapters, and when I get the time, I'll correct the past chapters._

 **Guest (July 11):** _Thanks so much! Hope you like this chapter just as much, and yeah, Querci's getting a lot of flak . . ._


	22. When Life Gives You Lemons

**So . . . very, very late.**

 **I have a good explanation for it: work. Yes, you can blame it on my boss, the fact that we are currently understaffed, and the fortunate/unfortunate existence of a promotion that has currently ramped up sales. It's funny, because this is my first job, and I started off part-time with very short shifts, and it's now turned into a full-time job with a lot of overtime. I spend about four of my waking hours at home, usually recovering from another exhausting work shift, and the rest of my waking day is spent working. Hopefully, you can empathize with the situation and understand why I took so long to post this newest chapter.**

 **Nevertheless, I am sincerely sorry, and I recognize that you have been deprived of now two weeks of storytelling, so this chapter is one of my longer ones.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Previously on TIW:DIS . . ._**

 ** _Fury recruits an unwilling Peter Parker/Spider-Man to spy on Percy Jackson, threatening to tell the world of Peter's superhero identity if he chooses not to follow Fury's orders._**

 ** _Annabeth struggles to make a decision as to whether or not she should accept Tony's job offer._**

 ** _Querci takes her case of treason to the gods, who choose to ignore her._**

 ** _And finally, way up in the throne room of Olympus, it is revealed that Zeus is ignoring Querci's demands because they will disrupt his plan of using Percy and Annabeth to discern why Thor has reentered his domain. Tension among the gods is evident._**

* * *

 **When Life Gives You Lemons (or Doughnuts) . . .**

Jason was late, tired, and annoyed with a particular pegasus by the time he arrived at Camp Jupiter. One day. One, single day. That was the maximum amount of time it took to go from Camp Half-Blood to Camp Jupiter via pegasus. If it went any longer, then something was wrong. And oh, something was seriously wrong with Guido the Pegasus.

"Guido wasn't cooperating?" Hazel asked, trying to keep the smile off her face as Jason got off the pegasus with a grimace.

"I don't think we missed a single doughnut shop," Jason said darkly, glaring at Guido. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but it'd certainly felt like they'd visited every tiny store, local bakery, and city mall that sold doughnuts between Long Island Sound and the West Coast. Jason and Guido had left Camp Half-Blood on Wednesday morning. They should have arrived at the Roman camp early Thursday morning. Jason knew because he'd made the trip a dozen times before. Pegasi were fast, and even including the ridiculous number of rests some of them asked for (*cough* Guido *cough*), the trip shouldn't have taken more than a day. Instead, it had taken more than two, and it was now Friday evening. Even taking into account time zones, it was still a substantial amount of time lost.

Hazel smiled faintly. "Blackjack's habit seems to have spread. Percy told me he stole some doughnuts from the Demeter cabin last week."

"Yeah, well—we'd better make sure that the pegasi here don't catch on," Jason said, frowning.

Guido gave a gleeful, doughnut-scented neigh.

Jason gave the pegasus a dark look. "I tried to summon Tempest in Illinois to replace Guido, but he didn't come."

"I think he might be jealous," Hazel remarked. "After all, you've been travelling mostly with pegasi for the past few months."

Guido snorted and held his head high, prancing on light feet.

Jason groaned. "Don't encourage him."

Hazel winced. "Right, sorry. You want to go check on the eagles? Most of them are roosting right now."

Jason cast one last exhausted look at Guido, and frowned when the pegasus winked at him. "Yes. Please."

* * *

 _Annabeth looked hesitant, torn between her duties as a demigod and her life's dream._

 _"Trust me," Percy said, looking at her with his most serious expression. "Just trust me."_

 _Annabeth looked at him, and finally gave a slow nod. "Okay. Don't screw it up," she said, only half teasing._

 _Percy gave his trademark lopsided grin. "Never."_

"Right, never." Annabeth knew that Percy was trying to comfort her, but it wasn't working—the looming threat of Querci was too great. It was the fact that Annabeth didn't actually know what the dryad intended to do; go to the gods and . . . what? Ask them to put her and Percy to death? Would the gods listen? What would Athena and Poseidon do? She could only imagine that Ares would be only too thrilled to get rid of one of the demigods he despised the most. And Hera, Her Bovine Majesty, would quietly persuade her husband to destroy the demigod whose life she had been trying to make miserable for the last several years.

And the worst thing was: she and Percy couldn't do anything to stop Querci. Because she understood the dryad's outrage, and she knew Percy did too. They'd hurt Querci—betrayed her trust. And she was beginning to realize that the problem had started long before this entire conflict with Thor; there was a bitter anger in Querci, and it had spent many years quietly simmering inside her. And now? Now it boiling over.

But her job at Stark Industries . . . gods, this was her start. This was what she'd been waiting for since . . . since Percy went missing for six months. Since Luke died. Since Thalia was turned into a tree. Since she met her stepmother and realized that she wasn't wanted. Since she realized that life changed, and far too much for her liking.

That want for a monument, for something permanent? It wasn't just a life goal for her—it was a statement. A statement to the universe that it could throw whatever it wanted at her, and she would still be standing when the dust settled. It was also a reassurance for herself—a reassurance that she had the strength to remain standing, no matter what.

Sure, she'd fallen. Gods, she'd fallen so many times, it hurt just to think of it. Change after change, she'd fallen and her life had continuously rearranged itself into a confusing arrangement of alien and familiar elements. But she wanted to believe that there would come a time when she would no longer have to fear of change. A time when she would have everything she needed to cope with change, within an arm's reach.

What if that time was _now_? Her relationship with her father and step-family was the best it'd ever been, she and Percy were heading off to New Rome for college, and Tony Stark was offering her a job—a key to that time where everything was secure and change was no longer something to be feared, but embraced.

If so, she _had_ to take it. It was as simple as that. This wasn't just her being selfish—it was recognizing that everything in her life was racing towards a focal point—a pivotal moment where a single choice would change everything, forever. And gods, this was her chance at a life in the mortal world. She'd never wanted one before, but after everything she'd gone through in the demigod world, all the quests and running from monsters and gods, she was ready for something that was new, exciting, and most importantly, didn't involve near-death experiences.

And yet, she _had_ to address the issue of Querci. She couldn't possibly ignore the problem. Leaving it all for Percy to deal with? It was irresponsible of her—unbelievably irresponsible. She didn't worry too much about Percy screwing it up—she had faith in him. And plus, he had Chiron, and the rest of the camp. It wasn't like this problem of Querci's was just her and Percy's to deal with now—the entire demigod community was starting to get involved. It was just that . . . She _needed_ to be here—it was gut-wrenching instinct that anchored her in place and prevented her from twitching a toe. She wouldn't call herself a control freak . . . except she was.

Annabeth didn't want to admit it, but the dilemma was staring her right in the face: for the very first time in her life, she was torn between the mortal and immortal world. It was a struggle of priorities; her duties as a demigod versus a life among humans. Ever since she was seven, she had been a demigod. She'd had only duties to the gods, to the rest of her vast Olympian family (the good ones, anyway), and that was it. But now?

Annabeth sighed. Half-blood. She never thought she'd hate the word, but she did now. Not entirely belonging to either of the two worlds that she lived in—feared and shunned by humans and their beliefs, born to be ordered by the beck and whim of gods.

It was a no-win situation.

"You're thinking about something," Percy said, frowning.

Annabeth bit her lip. "Yes."

Percy recognized the indecision on her face. "You just said you would take the offer," he said, with a hint of accusation.

"Yes, I know. But I can't just _leave_."

Percy sighed.

. . .

Percy and Annabeth broke the news to Chiron only a few minutes later, finding him still at the Big House speaking to Piper.

"Tony offered me a job," Annabeth stated, when Chiron looked at the two questioningly.

The two of them explained the signs that they received from Athena and Posiedon earlier in the day, and the job opportunity that had presented itself to Annabeth.

"I want to go," Annabeth admitted. She knew why she was telling Chiron every detail, important or not. She wanted the centaur to help her make a choice. She wanted to go, but she didn't.

Chiron was the closest she had to a father figure; he knew her better than anyone, maybe even more than Percy. He'd coached her, guided her, provided advice even when it was unwelcome. And she needed his advice now.

So it came as a surprise to her when it was Piper who pointed her in the right direction.

"Then go." The daughter of Aphrodite said simply, as if the answer were obvious.

. . .

Piper knew how difficult it was to be a demigod. Not just on its own, fighting monsters and trying to appease the gods, but in comparison to being simply mortal. Having spent the majority of her youth as a girl who was just trying to survive school, bullies, the police, and the media, only to be shoved into an entirely different world where kids were adults and bullies were gods . . . it was a difficult transition to make, to say the least. She still struggled to balance her 'mortal life' with her demigod life; keeping in touch with her dad, feeding him lies about backpacking through America before starting college while she was currently making a life in both Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter—it was no easy task. So when Annabeth came in with her story about trying to decide whether she should stay or go, Piper couldn't help but feel a flash of déjà vu. She recognized the indecision on the older girl's face, the uncertainty in her voice—it was what she used to feel. Still felt, if she were being honest with herself.

"There's nothing you can do about Querci," Piper continued. She'd heard all about the growing conflict between the dryads and Percy and Annabeth. In fact, the entire camp had by now—a testament to the gossiping abilities of the nymphs. She'd even run into Querci as she was leaving the council meeting just a few hours before. The cold hard determination she'd seen in the dryad's stern face and purposeful strides was enough to convince Piper that nothing could be done to stop her. They were just going to have to wait and see what course of action would be taken by both the dryad and the gods. Besides that, they could do nothing else.

"She won't listen to reason, or anything else. Staying and waiting is just going to end up being a waste of time—take the job offer and go to LA. If we need you, we'll let you know."

Pursuing that line of logic, it took less than an hour to finally convince Annabeth that it would be fine if she left for LA. Everyone knew that the daughter of Athena was a control freak, said in the most endearing of terms. The moment Piper was able to establish a serious form of communication between her and the goings of the camp, everything was set. (Someone could have accused Piper of using her charmspeak on the daughter of Athena, but she would have flatly denied it, now and forever).

"I'll Iris-message you once a day," Percy said.

"Twice a day," Annabeth pressed.

"Okay, twice a day."

"And tell me everything that happens?" Annabeth pressed.

"Everything." Percy promised. "If we need you, you can tell Tony you're homesick and get him to send you back."

Annabeth reluctantly nodded. "Okay." She looked at Chiron resolutely. "I'll take the offer, then. We'll go see Tony tomorrow, and let him know."

Piper beamed. "That's great!"

And she meant it. Even though she'd heard a lot about Tony Stark from the media and her father, she knew that Annabeth was entirely invested in the man's company and had been following its progress closely for the last several years. And after everything the demigod had gone through, this job was a well deserved break and reward.

It was at that moment that Leo burst into the room, giving a triumphant "Aha!" when he spotted Percy and Annabeth.

"Will you guys stop avoiding me and organize a date between me and Tony Stark already?"

. . .

Annabeth ended up leaving the Big House for some vague Ancient Greek lesson, letting Percy break the bad news to Leo.

"Not even one small fling?" Leo pleaded, after Percy had explained the situation.

Percy shook his head, wondering when the son of Hephaestus developed puppy eyes. "No, I'm sorry." He felt so much like a hypocrite at the moment; telling Leo that he couldn't meet Tony because the risk would be too great, when he and Annabeth had already met with him several times. Hadn't he introduced Annabeth to Tony because he'd known that she loved the man's genius? And here he was, in the same situation with Leo—except in this case, he was denying him the opportunity.

"Don't sweat it, dude," Leo laughed, all seriousness gone. "I understand."

Percy blinked in surprise, remembering how annoyed and disappointed Leo had been a couple days ago, when he learned that Percy and Annabeth hadn't told him about meeting Tony. "You don't want to meet him?"  
"No, I do," Leo admitted. "And I kinda don't. It's complicated." He shifted back and forth between his feet, and Percy caught a glimpse of an orange spark in the demigod's hair before it winked out.

Evidently, Leo was conflicted. And so Percy left and let him be, before he turned into a human torch and Percy lost his eyebrows—again.

. . .

Leo wanted to meet Tony Stark.

He also wanted to keep a good minimum distance of 10 miles between himself and Tony Stark.

Leo had long ago recognized the qualifications of a potential friend. In fact, if one could put up with a 24/7 talk show that involved humour, fire, and spicy tacos, then they were officially a best friend. Leo supposed that Tony Stark might be an exception to that rule, however. He certainly appeared to be a man of humour, he had that spark, and hopefully, he liked spicy food. But he also had a lot of baggage, and Leo wasn't sure if he could simply disregard it.

Leo knew a lot about the damage one's history could wreak. He himself had been considered responsible for his own mother's murder, and spent the following years running from foster homes after his own family turned against him. So when he met someone, he always tried to do them the courtesy of forgetting their history and instead, concentrating on the present person. It's what he'd want anybody to do when meeting him.

However, if there was anything that becoming a part of the Greek/Roman/Whatever cult had taught him, it was that history was important. Monsters and gods were unbelievably predictable, as if everyday, they woke up having forgotten every single action they'd carried out in all the centuries before. Leo supposed that his own history was important, as well, though it was difficult to acknowledge. And applying that same logic to Tony Stark, he figured that the man's history was also important.

Weapons manufacturer, terrorist in some peoples' eyes, murderer . . . Leo wasn't sure if that was someone he wanted to meet.

No, forget that. Leo was sure that he was definitely someone he didn't want to meet.

But mechanic, inventor, and genius? If those weren't traits of a child of Hephaestus, then Leo wasn't sure what was. He half expected to hear news of the Vulcan sign appearing above the man's head in one of his popular press conferences.

And it didn't help that all of Leo's half-siblings were fans of Tony Stark, to some degree. At the moment, the Hephaestus cabin was quickly becoming the number one target of Tony Stark hate crimes. Sabotaging the forges and leaving behind crude message, cursing their utensils to explode—someone even went so far as to try and break into Bunker Nine, leaving a dozen smashed jars of Greek Fire littered around the entrance after several failed attempts. It had everyone on edge, to say the least. Recreational use of the dangerous substance wasn't banned, but it usually wasn't encouraged. The only people to use it on a weekly basis were the Stoll brothers, and Leo doubted that the two sons of Hermes would commit such a crime. As far as he knew, they didn't care much for Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers.

The crimes had slowly died down since Wednesday, when the camp first learned of the friendship that Percy and Annabeth had established with the self-proclaimed superhero, but they hadn't stopped. Leo was pretty sure that Chiron, despite his seemingly endless amount of patience, was planning to put a stop to it all tonight before campfire with some stern reminder that the majority of the campers would hear and follow.

So, ultimately? Leo was conflicted. He wanted to say it was a love-hate relationship, but he neither loved nor hated the man. It wasn't even a like or dislike.

It was just . . . complicated.

Like it was with Calypso. He was heading over to her cabin now, dreading the time five minutes from now, when he would have to come clean and admit that he took several of her flowers for some tinkering in Bunker Nine. Well, it might have been a few more than several.

It might have been an entire garden.

But hey, it didn't take that much time and effort to regrow a garden, right?

. . .

Percy and Annabeth had their usual session with Will that Thursday evening, meeting at their spot by the beach. Barefoot in an orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt and beach shorts, the son of Apollo looked right at home, resting in the setting sun.

Will nodded to them in greeting. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Good." Percy said, slightly apprehensive as he and Annabeth sat down across from him, settling into the cooling grains of sand. He wasn't looking forward to this session—he didn't want to have yet another episode.

"You're looking good," Will agreed, giving them both a quick lookover, his perceptive eyes taking in the lack of the usual crease between their brows and bags beneath their eyes. It appeared that they were significantly less stressed, as opposed to two weeks ago. "Where did we leave off on Monday . . . the part with Akhlys, correct?"

Annabeth pursed her lips, nodding. "Yes. We didn't quite finish it . . ."

Because Percy lost it and summoned a giant wave that reached so far inland that the grassy roof of the Demeter cabin was completely destroyed by salt water. But Annabeth didn't say that aloud.

Will laced his fingers together and looked at them expectantly. "Okay, then let's get through with it now."

Percy nodded with resolution. At one point or another, he was going to have to relive everything that had happened in the Pit. Better here than elsewhere. "She—Akhlys—hid us in her mist stuff—"

"Death Mist," Annabeth reminded him, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, right, that stuff—and afterwards, she turned around and stabbed us in the back—"

"Not literally," Annabeth said, for Will's benefit.

And the rest of the hour was wasted away with a good story about how two demigods overcame Akhlys in the terrible Pit beneath the Underworld. Will Solace couldn't help but smile faintly; even though the event had to have been more terrible than could ever be realized, the two of them bickered and laughed as they recounted their experiences. It was as if the entire encounter had lost its nightmare-inducing edge; it could still bruise, certainly, but no longer could it inflict deep and slow-healing wounds.

Will sat back when they finished their story, certain that Percy and Annabeth had improved substantially this past week.

"That wasn't too bad," Percy said, seeming slightly surprised and looking to Annabeth.

"Are you still giving lessons to Tony Stark?" Will asked.

Percy nodded. "And . . . Annabeth is going to LA soon." He admitted. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but supposed that the entire camp would find out about it eventually. Better that they let Will know now.

Will raised an eyebrow. "Really? How soon?"

"Probably this weekend, for two weeks." Annabeth said. "Percy and I are a little worried about what will happen when we're separated . . ." She traded a glance with Percy. "I mean, being together has helped us get through sessions with you and asthma attacks. Not that sessions with you are anything like asthma attacks," Annabeth said quickly.

"They both put me in a bad mood," Percy pointed out.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, turning back to Will. "What I mean is—I'm afraid that we'll get worse once we're apart."

Will tilted his head, thinking. "Maybe . . . and maybe not. Keep up with your lessons, and make sure you go to LA," he said, looking between Percy and Annabeth.

"Um, not that I was going to stop the lessons, but why?" Percy asked, confused.

"Because I think your time with mortals is helping with your recovery," Will said, feeling certain in his diagnosis. "It gives you a break from demigod 'stuff'," he explained at their questioning looks, borrowing one of Percy's favorite words. "And keeps you busy. So you spend less time thinking, and more time doing something new that doesn't involve gods, monsters, or most importantly, the Pit."

Annabeth nodded, understanding now. "That makes sense."

"Who knew Tony could work as good as an inhaler?" Percy joked.

* * *

Friday afternoon, Thor entered Tony's workshop while he was in the midst of trying some new color schemes for his Iron Man suit.

"Try the black with the gold," Tony said, leaning back in his chair.

The hot rod red disappeared to be replaced by a gleaming black.

"Don't put it in stripes—it looks like a bumblebee!"

"I believe that was the point, boss," Friday responded pleasantly.

"Have you made any progress in locating the Infinity Stone residing here on Midgard?" The Asgardian asked, giving a brief glance at the many words and numbers scattered across Tony's screens. He had finally changed out of his loud red cape and silver armour for a simple buttoned shirt and jeans, but rather than hiding his physique, the Midgardian attire seemed to accentuate his tall, muscled frame just as thoroughly as his medieval garments.

"Uh no, thanks for knocking." Tony said, spinning in his chair and getting up, frowning at the holographic gold and black iron man suit.

He'd actually spent the majority of last night brainstorming ways that he could search for the Stone, but hadn't gotten far. Tony didn't want to admit it, but without Bruce . . . Well, let's just say he wasn't a world-leading source on gamma radiation. The signal they'd been searching for in the conflict with Loki hadn't exactly been huge, and Tony wondered if the Stone 'residing' somewhere on Earth even had the same energy signature. Because if it didn't, then it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack and not knowing what a needle looked like.

And besides, he was busy with other matters. Like Annabeth. He'd been busy preparing a jet for her and Pepper so they could leave for LA this weekend, 100% certain that the girl would accept his offer. Because if she really was as ecstatic about his company and intelligent as Percy had led him to believe, then she would accept. Who wouldn't? It wasn't like she had anything keeping her New York, anyways.

"I'll keep working on it, but for now—"

"Annabeth is going to Los Angeles?" Thor asked, frowning at one of the screens. The one that currently showed the passenger flight list for the jet currently stationed at Tony's private airport.

"Yes, she is." Tony said absently, before doing a double take and turning around to face the man, one eyebrow raised. "Did I just hear displeasure? Is the great Thor Odinson _displeased_?"

Thor frowned deeper. "No, I am simply surprised, is all."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, you look surprised all right. Remember, Shakespeare. This is the 21st century, not the 13th century. You can't go chasing after tramps, especially when they're two times younger and you're already in a relationship."

Thor looked highly offended. "Are you accusing me of courting this girl, Stark? Because you would be more likely to be found guilty of—"

"Relax, relax," Tony held up his hands, before the Viking decided to pull out his hammer. "I'm just kidding. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Thor sniffed. "I don't wear panties."

"Fine, boxers."

"I do not wear those either."

Tony closed his eyes. "You're a disaster."

* * *

Annabeth and Percy arrived at the Tower less than an hour later, having used the same method to reach the Tower as they did yesterday.

Rhodes and Clint were still absent, but besides those two men, the rest of the team was present in the penthouse, though Percy and Annabeth weren't sure why.

"Are you truly going to Los Angeles in California?" Thor asked, the moment they stepped out of the elevator and into Tony's penthouse.

"Um, yes." Annabeth blinked, surprised by the ambush. "I've decided to take the job offer."

Next to her, Percy said, "Hello to you too."

Percy wanted to be angry at seeing the Asgardian. After all, he was the reason Querci was asking for him and Annabeth to be executed. But talking to Thor now, Percy couldn't bring himself to be angry; their conflict with the nymphs had started long ago, judging by the great deal of anger Querci was harbouring. Who knew how many grudges the Wild community held against all demigods, and for how long? It was bound to have boiled over sooner or later.

"Ah, yes. Hello," Thor responded awkwardly. So the demigod was leaving for another state. Thor was disappointed, but not for the reasons that Tony had suggested earlier. He had been hoping to have another conversation with Annabeth and Percy, and perhaps discern how it was that the daughter of Athena had hindered the movement of Mjölnir, if only for a brief moment.

"Are you both going?"

"No, I'm staying," Percy said. He frowned. "Why?"

"I was simply wondering, is all." Thor said. "Stark is in the other room, if you're looking for him." He turned and pointed to one of the lounges through the many glass walls. "Make sure you're wearing boxers when you speak to Stark," he said darkly.

"Um . . ." Percy and Annabeth traded confused looks.

"I didn't bring any spares," Percy rubbed the back of his neck.

Annabeth punched his arm. "Don't be disgusting!"

The two of them cautiously thanked Thor and approached the room.

Inside, Steve and Tony were conversing, sitting opposite of each other. As they neared, parts of the two men's heated conversation filtered through the glass.

"I doubt Ross had Rhodes visit him at the Point just so they could 'hang out'," Percy heard Steve say, annoyance evident in his tone. "He's getting involved with things he has no say in; the Avengers is separate from the government, if you've forgotten."

Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Does it feel like we're on a loop? Because I feel like we're on a loop. For the sake of not sounding like a tape recorder, I'll rephrase: you shouldn't be worried about Ross, unless you've got something to hide." When Steve didn't say anything, Tony's eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something." Steve still didn't say anything, and Tony straightened, a dark look on his face now. "Please tell me you're not still searching for that cold-blooded assassin of a frien—hey, Percy, Annabeth!" Tony greeted them, leaving the rest of his sentence unfinished. He gestured to the comfy couches, the sudden smile on his face betraying none of the tension that they'd just witnessed. "Sit down, have a drink. Water? Juice? I promise I haven't spiked any of it."

Annabeth frowned with disapproval, but sat down. Percy sat next to her. Steve stood and managed a welcoming smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Annabeth noted the dark frown he gave Tony before leaving the room with a vague excuse.

"So, you've made your decision?" Tony asked, sitting opposite of the pair and leaning back, crossing one leg over the other.

Annabeth nodded. "Yes. I've decided to take the offer."

Tony grinned, clapping his hands together. "Knew you would, kid. Alright, so the trip is exactly two weeks, so you'll be back two Fridays from now. I've got the jet prepared, and Pepper should be there in the hour. I've got a car outside, ready to take you to the airport and meet up with her. From there, it's a direct flight to LA," he said, standing up. "All set?"

"N-now? I'm leaving now?" Annabeth traded a shocked look with Percy, suddenly feeling as if things were moving far too fast. "I didn't bring anything with me—I haven't packed yet." _I haven't said goodbye to Chiron yet, or asked Malcolm to take over my classes, or even told Screech that I was leaving,_ she wanted to say. There were so many things that needed to be attended to, she couldn't possibly leave _now_. And all she had was the clothes on her back, her brain, and . . . oh, her purse. Which contained her dagger and Yankees cap.

"I've got it all covered—being a billionaire has its perks," Tony grinned. "You just need to bring yourself."

Percy looked at her, and a look of understanding crossed his face. He smiled—a genuine, warm smile that he reserved for the rare time that he was serious. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. Go."

Annabeth stood, clasping her hands nervously, and took a deep breath. "Um, okay."

Percy stood as well, and enclosed her in a hug. Annabeth leaned into his embrace and breathed in deeply, the smell of the sea calming her racing heart.

"Miss you," Percy murmured, the words breathed quietly into her ear.

"Be careful," Annabeth whispered back, hugging him tighter.

Percy leaned back, his foolish grin back. "Always am."

Annabeth gave a small laugh and blinked, surprised to find herself crying. After all, when was the last time she and Percy had been truly apart ever since the Pit? She cleared her throat, wiping her eyes inconspicuously, and turned to Tony.

"Everybody's said their goodbyes?" Tony looked between the two of them, and they both nodded. "Okay Miss. Chase, right this way."

Tony and Annabeth walked into the waiting elevator, and the last Annabeth saw of Percy before the doors slid closed was him standing just a few feet before her, wearing his ridiculous, goofy grin.

. . .

The moment the elevator doors slid closed, Percy wandered back to the lounge room and flopped down on a couch, suddenly exhausted. No, that wasn't right. He felt . . . empty. He and Annabeth were with each other so often that when one of them was missing, the absence felt almost like a physical illness.

"Love sick?"

Percy looked up to find that Steve had returned. "How would you know?"

Steve chuckled, sitting down beside him. The couch made a quiet squeak of protest from the sudden extra 200 pounds. "Because you're obviously head-over-heels in love with her. And plus, I know the feeling."

He didn't elaborate, and Percy didn't ask. Instead, he poked into a different personal matter. "What were you and Tony arguing about before?"

Steve winced. "Annabeth told you about how the public is calling for accountability? Well, it was something along those lines. Stark and I don't always see eye to eye."

"He thinks that the government should get involved," Percy recalls. Having known Tony for only two weeks, he still couldn't understand why the man supported government intervention. He seemed to be the kind of person who preferred doing his own thing, without the restriction of rules and laws.

Steve nodded. "After everything that's happened, he thinks it would be best."

"But what if it isn't?"

Steve looked at him curiously. "You don't support government oversight?"

Percy tried to keep a neutral face, recognizing that he'd just slipped up. "I didn't mean that—it's just . . . the government doesn't always help." And with that cryptic response, he shut his mouth before he said something he would truly regret.

The last thing Percy wanted to do was get involved in this issue among the Avengers. The world of politics was bad enough in his own world; putting up with the requests of gods and keeping Camp Half-Blood running smoothly was already a struggle. He didn't want to add _human_ politics on top of it all.

And it didn't help that he'd just inadvertently gave his own opinion on the matter. He found that with each day he spent among these people, the more he revealed about himself, whether by accident or not. Like yesterday, when he'd told them that Annabeth knew her way around a knife. He'd only mentioned it because he knew Natasha had noticed Annabeth reaching into her purse after his premature reaction to the thrown knife. It was the best excuse he could give; something that explained Annabeth's quick reflexes and lack of alarm at the sight of sharp weapons, but didn't give away much else. Sure, it was just bits and pieces everyday, but they were coming together to shape his and Annabeth's identities.

"Anyways, I'd better get going." Steve broke the awkward silence, rising to his feet. "Got a lot of stuff to do." Yet another vague remark.

"Being a superhero is a never-ending job." Percy remarked.

Steve gave a rare self-deprecating laugh. "Superheroes? That's what some people like to call us."

"Captain America . . . yeah, it doesn't really have a ring to it, does it?" Percy joked, standing up as well. "I think I'll just stick with Steve."

Steve dipped his head, smiling. "I'd like that."

The two of them walked to the elevator and Percy stepped in, telling Friday to take him to the lobby. He mimicked a salute to Steve, grinning. "See you later, capt'n."

Then the doors slid closed and Steve was suddenly alone.

Managing a small chuckle, Steve wondered what would happen if Percy was in his shoes. Would he take the stance that he was taking now? Who knew—maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. The kid was unpredictable.

Steve settled into a chair, prepared to wait until Stark returned from escorting Annabeth to the car so that they could finish their conversation. He wasn't looking forward to it; every talk ended in an argument, and he had better things to do than argue with Stark. Intel had come in this morning that pointed to Rumlow being in Nigeria. And while they had yet to receive confirmation on the intelligence, the team was preparing for a tropical, hot climate.

After all, Rumlow wasn't just trying to continue HYDRA's mission of global terrorism—he was also trying to take out the former Winter Soldier before the treasure trove of information he possessed on HYDRA came into the wrong hands.

Long story short: Rumlow could lead them to Bucky.

* * *

"Wait!" Someone called just as the car was about to leave the private parking lot of the Tower.

The driver stopped and the door next to Annabeth suddenly opened to reveal a girl fashionably dressed in a red leather jacket, black skirt, and knee high boots.

Wanda Maximoff crossed her arms, frowning down at Annabeth. "Annabeth Chase—you were going to leave without me?"

Oh gods, Annabeth had entirely forgotten the other reason that she'd come to the Tower. To meet with Wanda again. "I'm so sorry—I completely—"

Wanda gave a light laugh, all seriousness gone. "Don't worry, I understand. Scoot over."

Bewildered, Annabeth moved into the other seat and Wanda gracefully folded herself in, closing the door behind her.

"Okay, you can go now," Wanda said to the driver.

The car started forward again and Wanda turned and beamed at Annabeth. "Excited for the trip?"

"Yes, a lot. But, what are you doing here?" Annabeth asked, still confused.

"A friend can't say goodbye?" Wanda gave a warm smile not unlike Percy's. "Besides, I know how lonely it can get in the back of the car, with no one to talk to. Doesn't hurt to have some company before you leave."

Annabeth silently agreed. She wished that she'd asked Percy to accompany her to the airport—at least they could have been together for a little bit longer. It wasn't that she was entirely dependent on him . . . it was that she couldn't live without him. And yes, there was a difference. It sounded rather dramatic, but it was true. She was certain of it. She remembered all those months last year, desperately searching for him when he went missing, spending countless hours talking to gods, wild spirits, demigods. Visiting Sally and crying together, sharing in each other's pain. If they hadn't come across Jason and realized that there was a very good chance that Percy was alive in the Roman camp, Annabeth wasn't sure what she would have done. Maybe trudged through life—but she certainly wouldn't have lived life.

"Thanks," Annabeth smiled with gratitude, but she couldn't help the small sigh that slipped out.

"Missing Percy?" Wanda guessed.

Annabeth briefly wondered if the girl was reading her emotions, perhaps even her mind. Then she dismissed the idea, and nodded. "Yes."

"You two are rather close," Wanda observed. "How did you meet?"

Annabeth stifled a laugh at that. The memories that were surfacing . . . gods, some of them were absolutely humiliating. "Well, it's not how we met that's important," Annabeth said, skillfully manipulating the direction of the conversation so that she wouldn't have to explain too much and lie in the process. "I mean, we didn't like each other at first. Which made some things awkward—we actually ended up on a theme park ride for couples, at one point. And we were barely even teenagers."

Wanda gasped, beginning to laugh. "Really? That must have been terrible!"

Annabeth laughed, nodding. "Yeah, it was. He was always fooling around, even when it was entirely inappropriate. He can be really annoying sometimes—especially if he doesn't like you."

"Sounds like Stark," Wanda commented.

"Yeah, they're a lot alike, in some ways . . ." Annabeth drifted off, making comparisons in her head. "Except Percy doesn't get sarcastic as often—he fools around and makes jokes, but Tony on the other hand . . ."

"Stark's sarcasm is not likable," Wanda finished, nodding. She understood. After all, she'd been the target of many of his sarcastic remarks over the past year. They stung, but they didn't stick. Not if you didn't let them.

Annabeth nodded. "Yes, exactly."

And so the two of them discussed a myriad of topics until, less than an hour later, the car came to a smooth stop. Annabeth and Wanda stepped out into the rays of the setting sun, taking in the flat plains of grass, and the jet resting just a dozen feet away from them. Oddly enough, there was no runway—only a square patch of tarmac that was just big enough to accommodate the jet.

"That . . . is a nice plane." Annabeth commented, not knowing what else to say. It was possible that she was star-struck.

The jet was certainly far more advanced than any of its competition. In fact, it appeared to be a cross between the conventional private jet and SHIELD's iconic quinjets, stealth aircraft used by the now-nonexistent organization for a variety of missions. Sporting Tony's trademark repulsor engine (new and improved) beneath each wing, the sleek next-gen aircraft was already causing an upheaval in the aerospace industry as a dozen of the top corporations fought for the chance to make a revolutionary business deal with Tony Stark that would introduce the repulsor technology into global markets and forever chance the landscape of air travel. However, gleaming an audacious white beneath the last rays of the setting sun, the words STARK INDUSTRIES boldly emblazoned in black on the jet's side made it clear that nobody but Stark Industries would be involved in the commercialization of the technology, if and when it happened.

"And it's ours for the next few hours."

Annabeth managed to stop gaping at the jet and turned to see Pepper walking towards her, beaming. Dressed smartly in her usual business attire, she somehow still managed to wear her pencil skirt and high heels with a degree of comfort that Annabeth could never hope to master.

She came to a stop beside the two girls and beamed at Annabeth. "All set?"

"Um . . ." Annabeth looked to Wanda, who gave her a reassuring smile. "Yes, I guess so."

"Perfect! Let's get moving, then, shall we?"

Annabeth nodded. She turned to Wanda, giving her a parting hug. Breaking apart, she said, "Thanks for the company."

Wanda smiled. "No problem. Now go! Your life awaits!"

Annabeth rolled her eyes at the melodramatic words. "Another phrase Vision learned from the web?" She guessed, remembering one of the conversations that they'd had in the car. The one about how Vision continually spouted snippets and sometimes entire passages taken from the vast space of the World Wide Web, to the point where Wanda had taken to quoting some of them.

"I have an endless number of them," Wanda winked. "Just as the ocean feeds flotillas of fish, and the forest bequeaths bounties of berries, I possess worlds of wisdom."

Annabeth laughed, giving a solo applause as Wanda bowed. "And who said that?"

Wanda shrugged. "Vision. But where in the Web he learned it from, I have no idea."

Annabeth laughed again, and then let Pepper gently lead her to the jet. Going up a set of stairs extending out of the jet, she turned around for one last wave to Wanda, before an attendant levered up the stairs and the hatch shut with a conclusive click and mechanized buzz.

10 minutes later, the repulsor engines were lifting the jet straight into the sky (ah, that's why there was no runway), and the plains of grass quickly became patches of green.

Next stop: Los Angeles.

* * *

Asking the driver to take her back to the Tower, Wanda sat alone in the back of the car, a faint frown on her face.

Did Wanda feel guilty about what she'd done? Yes. It wasn't spying on a stranger anymore. It was spying on a friend. She'd taken the chance when it had presented itself to her, sliding into the car to sit next to Annabeth, and spend an hour talking about something and everything—and hopefully in between, learn more about the two mysterious people who had begun to integrate themselves with various members of the team.

But somehow, in the midst of it all, her curiosity and suspicions has been replaced by friendship. And now all she felt was guilt.

As Vision once quoted: "You must spy on your enemy, and you can afford to snoop on your family, but never, ever scrutinize your friends."

"And if you do, something is terribly wrong."

But then again, the web didn't always give the best pieces of advice to follow. Case in point: when Vision decided to enact one statement that declared: "When life gives you lemons, throw them back (really, really hard)!"

The kind of damage that those little citrus fruits can do when thrown from a Vibranium-enriched synthetic arm powered by the Mind Stone is truly amazing. And expensive, as one billionaire can attest to.

* * *

 **Constructive criticism is welcome! Let me know your thoughts and questions :) Also, I promise to respond to all reviews from FF members in the morning—I just really need some sleep right now.**

 **When life gives you lemons . . . what do you do? ;)**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to guest reviews:**

 **Achievement: Don't worry, I totally understand! Also, loved how you summed everything up—it was actually a pretty good synopsis on some of the things that have happened to far. See you in a month! :)**

 **Guest (July 28** **th** **): No, no worries :) I'm terribly sorry for the delay—I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Guest (July 27** **th** **): Thanks! That was an absolute booster for a very bad day for me—thank you!**

 **Guest (July 25** **th** **): Love the enthusiasm, and thank you for all the support! Enjoy this chapter :)**

 **Guest (July 19** **th** **): So, I'm actually developing my own rule for who will be worthy and who won't, and it'll be revealed later on in the story ;) But thank you for the pointer—I checked out the marvel website, and it was definitely helpful**

 **Anonymous: Lol, thanks for the understanding—it's greatly appreciated :)**


	23. Five Little Gardens and the Big Bad Leo

_Alright. Very long time since I posted. I apologize once again, but I hope you trust that I had my own reasons. Fortunately, I'm returning to school soon, so I should be going back to my usual schedule of one post a week, as some of you old-timers may be familiar with ;) It seems weird, but in the summer, I have a much more lenient writing schedule than I do during the school year._

 _Thank you for all of the reviews! I love reading them, so please keep sending them :)_

 _And on another important note: I will soon be incorporating scenes taken directly from Civil War! I look forward to writing them—they'll include all of the important tidbits, and also inner thoughts on all of the characters. And I'll also be adding a few of my own scenes, to integrate all of my other side plots that are currently running around._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Previously, on TIW:DIW . . ._

 _Jason finally arrives at Camp Jupiter with Guido, the doughnut-lover._

 _Annabeth solidifies her decision to take Tony's job offer and Leo has second thoughts about Tony Stark._

 _Tony's progress with finding the missing Infinity Stone on Earth is slow going at the moment; he's preoccupied with other things, including his continuing conflict with Captain America and preparing to send Annabeth to LA._

 _Steve receives intel that points to Rumlow being in Nigeria._

 _Annabeth and Wanda have many conversations in the car as it takes Annabeth to the private jet._

* * *

 **Five Little Gardens and the Big Bad Leo**

 **[Tony]**

Tony got off the phone after a quick 5 minute conversation, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Alright, his entire flight path was planned now. In a couple days, he'd leave for LA to check up on Annabeth and oversee the progress on Project Retreat, and then he'd circle back for Massachusetts to give a ground-breaking speech to M.I.T. faculty and students.

* * *

 **[Percy]**

Percy expected to have heard something from Querci by the time he got back to Camp. After all, just last night, she had stormed out of the Elders' council meeting with an ominous warning that involved the gods. And usually, when death threats were made, it was best if one didn't procrastinate. Everyone had schedules, things to do, errands to run. The last thing anybody wanted to do was wait for the final verdict to come—there was no time or patience for that.

But nope, there was still no word from Querci by the time the campers had assembled in the mess hall for dinner. The only thing of significance that evening was a warning given by Chiron regarding the several crimes committed against the Hephaestus cabin by unknown individuals due to their support for Tony Stark.

"If I hear about one more weapon or suit of armour stolen from the forge, or a defacing of the Hephaestus cabin, I will give out more severe punishments, is that understood?" Chiron's stern eyes surveyed the mess hall, and not a single demigod moved. After all, Chiron rarely made threats. "I am not denying any of you a personal opinion regarding Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers, but I will not tolerate violence against a fellow camper."

"Even when the Avengers have done so many bad things?" A small but clear voice asked.

Percy turned to see that Irene had stood up at the Ares table. The young girl was frowning slightly, her arm slung in its traditional cast as it continued to mend from its most recent break. One of her half-siblings tried to pull her down discreetly in a moment of rare respect, but Irene shook her off resolutely.

"Even so," Chiron responded gently. "They are not of our concern, and never have been, child."

"They might not have been before, but now Percy and Annabeth are hanging out with them every week," someone from the Apollo table pointed out, almost accusing. It was Sasha, the girl who had made her thoughts regarding Tony Stark very clear throughout camp. She also arrived at Camp several months after the end of the Second Giant War, and thus had the unfortunate (or fortunate) luxury of not possessing any respect for Percy beyond the fact that he was her senior.

Percy had had enough. He stood up, his gaze hardening. "We didn't go out of our way to meet them. It just happened, and now we're friends. That's it."

"And friends give each other job offers?" Sasha scoffed. "You must be really great friends."

"Yeah, maybe we are," Percy snapped back. "Either way, it's none of your business."

"None of my business? You made it all of our business!" Sasha said, incredulous. "You met Thor because of your trips to that stupid tower, and now the dryads hate us! Annabeth is going to California because you met Tony Stark! And you say it's none of our business?"

"Sasha, dear, the dryads do not hate us." Chiron said, placating. "Relations with them are strained, but they have not been broken. And furthermore, the Avengers still remain beyond our concern. Percy and Annabeth's friendship with them is not to be an excuse for gossip or threats."

"So we're just supposed to sit back and wait until they find out we're all demigods?" Sasha challenged, her fists balling. If it weren't for the fact that a lyre had been floating over the demigod's head 5 months ago, one might have guessed that she was a child of Ares, given her lack of respect for all authority figures. "Because that's bound to happen, sooner or later."

In another lifetime, Percy would have lost his temper and pulled out Riptide right then and there. But over the past few years, he had learned to keep a better lid on his anger. That wasn't to say he didn't want to draw his sword, however. "We're not going out of our way to try and reveal our identities. We're friends—that's it."

"But Sasha's right—I know many of us have friends in the mortal world," Malcolm said, rising from the Athena cabin. "But none of them are like the Avengers. It's not that I don't trust you and Annabeth," the son of Athena continued, nodding to Percy. "It's that I don't trust them."

"We should have discussed this before you went and started getting cozy with 'superheroes'." Someone sighed from the Hecate cabin. He had a highly disapproving look on his face. "As ignorant and oblivious as mortals might be, any mistake on your part could result in revealing our entire world."

"Mercedes!" Lou Ellen gave her half-brother a sharp glare that could have cut steel, but the demigod simply shrugged with indifference.

"Percy and Annabeth aren't careless," a quiet voice responded. Piper McLean rose up from the Aphrodite table, frowning lightly. "And they certainly aren't as flamboyant as yourself, Mercedes."

Her rebuke was spoken in such a smooth and faultless manner that several demigods weren't sure if Piper was indeed insulting Mercedes, or simply stating the obvious. Because Mercedes, the son of Hecate, was certainly flamboyant. With kohl-lined eyes and rough dark hair tied back in a neat bun at the back of his head, along with lines upon lines of Ancient Greek tattooed black down his bronzed arms and hands and who knew where else, Mercedes was one to draw looks wherever he went. Not much was known about him beyond the time he arrived at camp two months ago, and not much was known now. The 17 year old demigod kept to himself the majority of the time, and it had been assumed by everyone that he would remain at camp year round. How he had survived so long in the mortal world, no one knew either.

"At the moment, the Avengers, including Tony Stark, don't pose any threat to us. And while they've obviously caused a great deal of trouble in the mortal world, there's nothing we can do about it," Piper said simply. It hurt her to say it, but it was true. From her stance as a demigod, the business of the Avengers really didn't affect her. It couldn't—she didn't want to consider what would happen if demigods suddenly came into conflict with the Avengers. From her stance as a daughter of a mortal father, however . . . "If and when the time comes that the superheroes become our business, we'll deal with it. For now, we remain uninvolved. Percy and Annabeth are fully aware of the risk—we should have faith in them."

Nobody could discern whether or not she was using her charmspeak, but Sasha reluctantly nodded and sat down. Malcolm tipped his head at Piper in acknowledgement of her words and sat down, as well. Mercedes simply shrugged, looking as if he were lounging in a comfortable chair rather than sitting at a bench.

After that, it was mostly smooth sailing. Dinner was eaten, tables were cleaned, and then the campers crowded around their customary campfire for another night of songs and stories. Percy couldn't help but feel a stark absence in his chest—usually, Annabeth would be sitting right next to him, singing along and sometimes telling one of their quests to the newer campers. Percy couldn't remember how many times people had asked for an encore of their battle against the hydra while searching for the Golden Fleece, or the moment Rachel Dare threw a blue comb at Kronos.

Leo was sitting close by, in the process of wincing and rubbing his shoulder after being punched by Calypso, who was smiling and rolling her dark, almond eyes at yet another ridiculous joke made by her boyfriend. She certainly looked at home among the demigods, her arm playfully thrown around Leo's shoulder while she sang a beautiful remix of Twinkle, Twinkle Hydra's Teeth.

It hadn't been that easy in the beginning, however. Not easy at all. With many campers still clearly recalling the losses that they had suffered during the Second Titan War, Calypso received less than a warm welcome from the majority of demigods at the start. The glamour that came with descending into camp on the back of a gleaming, automated dragon, accompanied by a beloved demigod whom many had thought was dead, was all wiped aside when they learned who her father was. She was, after all, the daughter of two titans, one of them being Atlas—the Titan who had kidnapped Annabeth, who had been the cause of a quest that resulted in the death of two demigods, and who supported Kronos. She was mocked behind her back, threatened in the middle of the night—Camp Half-Blood could be very unkind when it chose to. When Annabeth began building a cabin for the camp's first mortal titan (she was the daughter of both Atlas and Tethys, after all), opposition rose up. One famous quote that resounded with many was spat in Annabeth's face by Clarisse in the early stages of the building process of the cabin: So what, we should start building cabins for the giants too?"

It took several months before the camp finally started to accept its first daughter of two titans. But even before that, with unwavering support from the most respected senior demigods of the camp, Calypso finally got her cabin. It was carved from dusky stone that glittered brightly beneath the night sky, as if embedded with millions of tiny stars. Inside, engravings of the map of the world and the Milky Way on the walls and floor glowed a gentle white when the lights were turned off. Obviously, Annabeth built it not with not just Atlas in mind, but Calypso. Atlas, the Titan of Astronomy, and his daughter, who possessed a healing touch and who kept company with the stars during her exile. They weren't just building cabins for the giants, or the titans.

They were building cabins for their children.

Because while Atlas himself was as unforgiving and callous as the dark mountain on which he was forever condemned, his daughter was not. Many campers knew, or soon found out, that they weren't always entirely like their godly parent(s). Jason wasn't consumed with self-importance. Piper couldn't care less about her looks. Tyson wasn't unpredictable and quick-tempered like a stormy sea. Mrs. O'Leary would sooner eat a rabbit than a (friendly) demigod. Even Irene—she was brash, but she wasn't as *cough* stupid *cough* as her father. Why couldn't the same be applied to the children of the titans, or giants?

And so the camp granted Calypso a cabin, and was currently in the process of building a cabin for her titan mother, Tethys.

And in return, Calypso gave the camp a garden.

It began as a few moonlaces on her window sill. One following morning, Calypso awoke to find her flowers decimated, their silvery petals torn to bits. However, in a gesture of growing friendship, several demigods from the Demeter cabin somehow managed to salvage a few remaining pods and replant them in the middle of the night, adding a few square feet of Hera's Clover, which were said to provide protection to women and girls. The clovers grew at a relentless rate, crawling up the dusky walls of the Atlas cabin and spreading outward from the base to cover the ground in a thick layer of soft, lush greenness. And instead of choking the growth of other plants, the clovers seemed to strengthen roots, create more beautiful and startling colours, and imbue flowers and bushes with a magical glow. Soon enough, dozens upon dozens of flowers and bushes popped up from out of nowhere, planted by anonymous demigods. Hot, bright fireblossoms burned in the night, while sleepy, drooping petals of Hypnos' Tears swayed softly at the lightest breath. Hydracinth crawled its way across ground and up walls and basketball posts, its hundreds upon hundreds of creepers throttling whatever they came into contact with.

It became the camp's first and largest donated garden.

It became so large that it was eventually divided into five smaller gardens, each with different qualities and uses. The one that Leo helped himself to was the one closest to the forges and had been jokingly nicknamed D&D: Dangerous and Deadly. For the garden contained some of the deadliest plant species that existed in the Greek and Roman world. Which made it very useful to some demigods—like Leo.

The defence bracelet (Valdez 3.0) was currently under development, and Leo had the wonderful idea of infusing some of the plants into the celestial bronze as part of an experiment. He ended up plucking the petals and leaves from the majority of flowers and bushes for a night of tinkering.

You can imagine the look on Calypso's face when she walked into her beloved garden the next morning.

It didn't matter that the garden grew back within the day under the care of Hera's Clovers. Calypso had a field day with Leo. Yelling, chasing him with Hydracinths, curses—the whole nine yards. But that was besides the point. With five new gardens flourishing within the camp, Calypso found her place among the demigods.

It was, in a way, like Camp Half-Blood's relationship with Camp Jupiter. Despite joining forces in the final battle against the giants, there were still voices of dissent following the war. After centuries of hostility and violence, it was difficult to forget the stories and rumours. They were an integral part of both the Greek and Romans' culture. The _graceus—_ absolutely no morals, partying and drinking all the time. A freak. The Romans—power-hungry, merciless fighters with no social life.

But now, looking around the campfire and seeing visiting Romans singing just as heartily as the next demigod, it was evident that opinions had changed for the better.

After the campfire, demigods began to break off and head to their cabins. After all, no one wanted to be caught by the curfew harpies.

. . .

Percy began the next day with an issue.

It was Saturday.

As in, meeting with a Peter Parker to play basketball at Central Park, Saturday. There was only one problem.

What time was he supposed to meet him there?

The two hadn't exchanged phone numbers, and Percy didn't use social media. He had no idea where the kid lived or why he had been on Fifth Avenue when he'd bumped into him—in fact, he knew next to nothing about Peter, except his name and the school he went to: Midtown, in Queens. Oh, and the fact that, for some reason, he'd been rooting for Goode's swim team rather than his own.

With that in mind, Percy decided to head off to Central Park at 8 in the morning. He had the majority of Saturday off when it came to Camp-related things, and he usually stopped by his mom's in the afternoon. So it wouldn't hurt to hang around the park for a few hours, hopefully bump into Querci and make some negotiations with her, play some ball with Peter, and then head off for his mom's apartment.

Hailing a cab to take him to Central Park, he got there a few minutes after 8 and strayed down a trail, confident that it would take him to the Great Lawn in less than a half an hour. The citywide bird clean-up was finished, and the rank smell was nearly washed away, which was a relief. Early bird couples strolled by with dogs or coffee, or both. Kids on skateboards or rollerblades flew past, engaged in intense races or conversations. Joggers sprinted by in a whirl of bad BO, tank tops, and—Percy blinked. Wait . . . Didn't he just see that jogger 10 or 15 minutes ago?

Did that guy just _lap_ him?

Six foot plus frame with broad shoulders, short blond hairs peeking out beneath a baseball cap, a white t-shirt . . .

"Hey, Steve!"

The jogger slowed, turning around with furrowed brows, before he saw Percy and blinked in mild surprise.

"Hey!" Steve jogged over, his face breaking into a smile. "Percy! How are you?"

Percy grinned back. "Good, thanks. You?"

Steve nodded. "Not bad. Just out for a morning jog."

Percy noted the questioning look on Steve's face but realized that the man was too polite to poke his nose in other people's business. Deciding to be nice and satisfy his curiosity, Percy said, "I'm here to meet a friend—play some basketball."

"Ah," Steve nodded.

Percy shifted on his feet, frowning slightly. "I swear, I just saw you a few minutes ago—but you couldn't have . . ."

"Run the entire trail in 15 minutes?" Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah . . . the perks of being—" he gave a conspicuous look around, considering all the civilians in the area, and pulled his ball cap lower. "Well, being you-know-who."

"Voldemort?"

. . .

Steve laughed again. The fact that Percy was respecting his choice to keep his identity hidden just made him like the kid more. "Nah—couldn't bring myself to like that guy." In fact, the fictional character had reminded Steve a bit too much of Red Skull when he had read the book series last year, but he didn't mention that. "I think I'm a bit more of a Neville."

Percy tilted his head. "Harry."

"Hermoine."

"Maybe a combination of the three," Percy considered aloud. "With a bit of Voldemort—he had a lot of followers, after all," he said, grinning.

Steve grimaced. "Something I didn't ask for."

Percy nodded, suddenly reminded of Jason. The son of Jupiter had never asked for the full and undisputed support of the legion when he first joined Camp Jupiter, but he'd certainly gotten it by the time he became praetor. "You're like a friend of mine—a blonde superman. Who wouldn't follow you?"

Steve pursed his lips. _Someone called 'the government',_ he thought to himself. "People," he finally said, vaguely.

Percy nodded, and then said something surprising. "Hey, you want to come play some ball with me and my friend? I'm supposed to meet him at the Great Lawn."

Steve blinked in surprise. Sometimes, the things that this kid did or said seemed years beyond his age—it was as if he somehow picked up on his unease and made an effort to lift his mood. But play basketball with Percy and his friend . . . it sounded like a nice break, but he didn't have that kind of time this morning. More intel was coming in that pointed to Rumlow being in Nigeria; any day now, he and his team would be making the journey to Africa. And he had the UN Summit to worry about. In fact, it was fast approaching—it was scheduled to take place a little more than a week from now. He had only left the Tower for his usual morning run, and to avoid another inevitable argument with Tony.

Steve finally shook his head. "Sorry, I can't."

"Aw man, maybe next time," Percy said, feeling only a little bit of disappointment. "Rain check?"

Steve nodded, hiding the grimace that began to surface on his face. The last time he'd taken a rain check, he'd been stuck in a WWII jet . . . "Yeah, sure."

Percy saluted, grinning. "See you next time, capt'n."

Then the kid jogged off, reminding Steve of a 16 year old boy running through the grey streets of Brooklyn.

. . .

It looked like Percy's luck was turning in his favour for the moment. By the time he made it to the Great Lawn, Peter was already there, sitting in the grass, leaning against his backpack while reading a book. Next to him, a new, orange basketball was nestled beneath his arm.

Which was also fortunate, considering Percy hadn't brought one himself. He didn't want to run the risk of bringing a basketball that still retained any curses that the Apollo or Hermes kids had placed on it. A basketball that constantly sprouted wings right before it swooshed through the hoop caused enough havoc and frustration in camp; Percy didn't want to find out how mortals would take it.

"Hey, Peter!" Percy jogged over to him.

Peter lifted his head, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the sun's glare. "Hey, Percy!" The kid scrambled to his feet, his book shutting with a resounding boom. "I completely forgot to schedule a time for today—sorry about that!"

"Nah, no worries," Percy waved the apology aside. He frowned at the kid's book, not even bothering to try and read the title that was printed in large, bolded font. "What are you reading? And is that backpack full of textbooks?" Percy's frown deepened. "Dude, school's out!"

Peter gave a self-conscious smile. "Um, yeah, I'm doing a summer internship right now—that's what all the textbooks are for."

"Really? Wow, that's great, man!"

Peter blushed. "Thanks." He picked up his basketball, offering it to Percy. "First shot?"

Percy grinned. "Be my pleasure."

The two boys took up residence at one of the empty courts, and started shooting a few hoops. Percy was more than a little surprised as he watched Peter handle the basketball; despite how skinny and small he was, the kid played like a pro. He took barely any time to aim, and some of his shots were from the three-point line—and all of them went in.

"Peter, you're great! Do you play on your school's basketball team?" Percy asked with interest, watching as he lined up another shot.

Blushing, Peter took a shot and missed for the first time that morning. "Thanks. And no, I don't."

"You should," Percy said, catching the ball as Peter tossed it to him.

"Maybe . . ." Peter shrugged, falling silent for a moment as Percy dribbled the ball. "It's just, I wasn't really good at basketball until a few months ago. I didn't play any basketball before then, so why should I now, you know?"

"No, not really," Percy said, taking a shot.

. . .

 **[Peter]**

Peter caught the rebound, dribbling and contemplating. How could he explain this? Preferably without giving away the fact that he was Spider-Man? "Think of it this way: say you're not good at something. Like, for your whole life, you've been really, really bad at something."

Percy thought for a moment. "Okay. I'm bad at reading."

Peter nodded, remembering that he'd overheard Tony saying that Percy was dyslexic the other night. "Okay. Then imagine, one day, you wake up, and suddenly, you're really, really good at reading."

"Umm, not possible," Percy said right away.

"Okay, well just imagine it," Peter said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm trying to—but I can't."

"Imagine it just for the sake of giving an example," Peter said, exasperated.

Percy grinned, laughing. "Okay, I'll try to imagine it."

Peter rolled his eyes again. "Okay, then imagine what you would do. Would you read all day long, at home and in front of people who believe that you can't read?"

Percy snorted. "No, that's a waste of time. And plus, just because I suddenly become good at reading doesn't mean I suddenly _like_ reading."

Peter groaned. "You would make a terrible guinea pig. Just, go with the flow, okay? Ignore the fact that you might like or not like reading."

"I don't like reading," Percy pointed out. "But okay. I guess . . . I wouldn't read that much in front of others."

"Why?"

"Because . . . that just wouldn't be me. I'm _me_ —I don't read. And I don't like reading," Percy added.

"And you just proved my point!" Peter said. " _That's_ why I don't play on the basketball team—because basketball just isn't me. And, it would attract a lot of . . . unwanted attention."

Percy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing. Just, people on the basketball team . . . and swim team . . . and _football_ team . . ."

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that you cheered for my swim team instead of yours?" Percy asked.

Peter gave a humourless laugh. "Yeah. It's just this group of jockeys . . ."

"Giving you a hard time?" Percy guessed.

Peter nodded.

Percy shook his head, looking angry now. "That's just wrong. Those kinds of people are trouble. Deserve to be taught a lesson."

Peter felt a chill go down his back. The funny, light-hearted guy he'd just been talking to was suddenly gone—now, all he could notice was how tall Percy was, how fit he was, and how seriously he spoke his words. He recalled that night in Central Park, when Percy had wielded his sword (Peter fervently hoped that he'd truly seen that sword, and it wasn't a figment of his wild imagination). That no-nonsense look on his face as he'd hefted his blade, ready to take on _Thor_ . . . Even now, looking at his strange green eyes, his hardened face, his wild hair . . . Peter was starting to realize that Percy was the kind of guy you didn't want to meet in the middle of night, on your own.

Jeez, Percy was _scary_.

Maybe Fury was right to investigate Percy . . . there was definitely something _there_ , but Peter wasn't sure what. And he sure as hell wasn't going to spy on someone he was beginning to consider his friend.

And plus, Peter's spidey senses weren't going off. Whenever he came within a 100 yards of Flash and his clique, his senses went crazy and off the hook like mice on cheese. But here he was, standing a few feet away from Percy, and he was totally fine. Which automatically made Percy a good guy and someone Peter could trust.

Peter finally shrugged. "It's life," he said, wisely.

"It's not a life anyone deserves," Percy shot back.

"I know," Peter sighed. "Come on—" he tossed the basketball at Percy. Hard. "We came to play some ball, didn't we? So let's play."

Percy looked at him with concern, but caught the ball all the same.

The two boys played until early afternoon, by which time they were both covered in sweat and absolutely exhausted. The two didn't know it, but each of their own unique sets of skills and enhancements made them perfectly suited to each other. Demigod strength, agility, and strategic experience vs. spider-like strength and agility paired with a highly intelligent mind. It made for many well-matched games, to say the least.

After resting up a couple of minutes, Percy got to his feet and held out his hand, pulling up Peter.

"Well, I gotta go, man," Percy said apologetically. "I had an awesome time—hopefully we can do this again?"

Peter grinned. "Yeah, definitely! Maybe next Saturday?"

Percy grinned back. "Sounds like a date." He waved a parting good-bye, and then left the courts for his mom's apartment.

* * *

 _10 minutes later, the repulsor engines were lifting the jet straight into the sky and the plains of grass quickly became patches of green._

 _Next stop: Los Angeles._

. . .

 **[Annabeth]**

The interior of the jet was certainly spacious. A fully furnished lounge area sat just outside of the cockpit, complete with a pair of crystal wine glasses and a bottle of wine sitting on a glass coffee table. Annabeth and Pepper sat across from one another as the jet settled into a smooth, level flight path.

It was only when Annabeth finished scrutinizing her surroundings and returned her gaze to the woman sitting across from her that she realized that Pepper was still quite the stranger to her. They had spoken only once before, in a short 5 minute conversation where she was both simultaneously hired by Tony and seemingly adopted by Pepper to be a close assistant.

The lack of familiarity between the two of them didn't stop Pepper from giving her a warm, welcoming hug, however.

"You must be so excited!" Pepper said, beaming as the two broke apart.

Annabeth couldn't help but smile back. "I am! I've waited a long time for this," she admitted.

"Well, you'll have plenty to do—we have a lot of work ahead of us," Pepper laughed, setting down two clear tablets on the coffee table.

Annabeth picked up one of the tablets, noting the STARK INDUSTRIES boldly emblazoned down the 5 mm thick side. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Pepper beamed again. "That's my kind of girl!" She picked up the other tablet, beginning to open more files. "I can introduce you to your job now—tasks and expectations and all the other things that Tony never bothered to mention." With a few swipes of her finger, she had transferred all the required files onto Annabeth's tablet.

As Pepper continued to manipulate and transfer files, Annabeth watched, impressed. This was the best technology she had seen in the mortal world so far, even if it was still light-years away from Daedalus' laptop. She wished she had that laptop with her now, but alas, all she had was her purse. And in it—her baseball cap and the two vials: one containing the Lethe waters and one of Will's special concoction for asthma attacks, which made her worried, because Nico only gave them one vial of the Lethe waters, and there was no way to know whether or not Percy would need it in the next two weeks. Oh, and her dagger. With so many Greek elements in a mortal environment, Annabeth made sure to keep one hand on her purse at all times.

"Now . . ." Pepper brought one file to centre stage, her tone becoming business-like. "The next two weeks is about you learning the ropes of the job you'll be starting in September—you'll be my assistant, shadowing me and carrying out some minor tasks."

"However, in addition to being my assistant, you'll also be shadowing the designing and building process of the new suites. We've also reserved you a spot at UC Berkeley College of Environmental Design, so that you may study and work at the same time—you can consider your job at Stark like an internship."

Annabeth blinked, sure that she had misheard. "Sorry—what? W-what do you mean, reserved a spot?"

Pepper looked at her, confused. "You're starting school at Berkeley in September—wait, did Tony not mention this to you?"

"No, I don't think so . . ." Annabeth said. _I know so—I think I'd remember if he had._

Pepper gave a frustrated sigh, her fingers typing furiously away at the tablet. "Tony Stark," she muttered warningly. She looked up briefly at Annabeth, giving an apologetic grimace before returning to her tablet. "Sorry—he does this sometimes."

"Put people in world-class schools without them even knowing?"

"And worse," Pepper sighed, leaning back. "Organizing last minute press conferences. Not attending last minute press conferences. Arriving at venues in his suit." Pepper's face darkened at the last one.

"Look, I really appreciate what you-he's done," Annabeth said. "But I've already chosen my college, and to be honest, I think I could teach some of those classes if I wanted to."

Pepper looked hesitant. "Well, Annabeth, your designs were absolutely beautiful and brilliant, but the kind of building models we use are more contemporary and advanced."

Annabeth nodded, understanding why the CEO of Stark Industries might be hesitant about letting her get involved in the building process when she had no apparent experience in modern architecture. But she hadn't gotten this job just to be sidelined and sent to school. She knew her stuff.

And so, in the next hour, Annabeth managed to fill several gigabytes of data on her tablet with hundreds of hand-drawn designs and notes that she had learned and developed over the course of her life. She pointed out flaws in the world's most iconic man-made landmarks, provided recommendations and alterations to some of the most contemporary architectural processes in North America, and even gave some suggestions for the Avengers Tower.

". . . using smart windows will also save a lot of energy; they'll change color and absorb or reflect light according to the weather to reduce the amount of energy that's consumed for heating and cooling . . ."

In some ways, that single hour became Annabeth's interview. She poured all of her experience and knowledge into those 60 minutes, determined to prove herself not just to Pepper, but also herself. She was ready. She had been ready for a long time.

After the 'interview', Pepper gave her a long look, before she copied all of the information and sent it off to a close friend at Stark Industries HQ in LA. If she listened to what her instincts were telling her, then she had a genius on her hands. But she needed the 'okay' first from the designing team, just to make sure.

"Annabeth—" Pepper laced her fingers together, looking at her intently. "Why do you want this job? You already know so much—we might be holding you back, for all we know."

"There's always more to learn," Annabeth said, almost sounding wise. "And plus, all of what I know about modern architecture is purely textbook based—I don't have any hands-on experience." And she was telling the truth—she had never designed anything besides Ancient Greek structures. The look on the gods' faces if they ever found a skyscraper on Olympus . . .

Pepper smiled. "Well then, that's what we're going to give you."

By the time they arrived at Stark Industries Headquarters, the two women had gone over Annabeth's expected duties for the next two weeks, and her additional participation in the designing of the new suites that would be built in the next few weeks.

But it was all wiped clean from Annabeth's mind when she stepped down the steps extending out from the jet and onto Tony Stark's private landing pad, looking upon the corporation that sprawled out beneath her.

It was like a college campus—a tiny village situated within a city, bustling roads and shining buildings all part of a complex, self-sustaining system. However, this village was huge, and its bustling roads incorporated advanced, cutting-edge technology that was still in its trial stages, and many of the shining buildings were bordering on being skyscrapers. Like the one whose roof Annabeth currently stood on.

Pepper laid a hand on Annabeth's shoulder and steered her towards the door that would lead them into the building. "It's late—I'll show you where you'll be rooming, and we'll get started in the morning. Sound good?"

Annabeth nodded, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get much sleep tonight, considering how excited she was.

. . .

The next morning didn't start quite as Annabeth expected. Or wanted, for that matter. She woke up (yes, she did sleep—It turned out that jet lag overcame excitement far more often than not) in her luxurious accommodations, had a quick in-room breakfast, and somehow found her way to the commons room to discover Pepper on the phone, having an intense conversation (or argument, one might say).

"—discussed this, Tony! You said you were done with that!" Pepper snapped into the phone.

There was something about the way that Pepper Potts snapped that made everything all the worse. She didn't raise her voice, and she kept a handle on her emotions, but her words were cold and they cut as deep as a dagger. Annabeth didn't even know what they were arguing about, and she could hear the frustration and disappointment underlying the woman's voice. She began to inch back, not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a private conversation.

Pepper sighed into the phone. Not a resigned or tired sigh, but an angry sigh that said "I'm done with you for the moment." Then she caught sight of Annabeth and gave her an apologetic smile, speaking quieter into the phone, "I have things to do—we'll discuss more about this, later." And with that, she ended the call.

"Annabeth! So sorry you had to hear that, honey—how did you sleep last night? Good? I can ask for some more breakfast if you're still hungry." Piper beamed, and suddenly, she was back to her usual warm, welcoming self. It was as if she compartmentalized everything, pushing and rearranging thoughts and emotions so that she could address each person and situation appropriately. Annabeth supposed that it was a necessary skill, considering that she was CEO (alongside Tony, of course) of one of the most successful corporations in the world.

"Um, no, thank you. And the food was great, thank you," Annabeth said politely. She wondered what was going on between Pepper and Tony, but tried not to give it too much thought—it wasn't her business, after all.

Pepper smiled. "That's great to hear!" She took a tablet off from the coffee table, handing it to Annabeth. "Now, the schedule has changed a little bit, so we won't be able to start with building designs for the suites just yet—but I do have some other things that I can get you to do."

And so Annabeth was off once again. She changed into formal attire that involved heels (which didn't destroy her feet with each step, amazingly) and headed down to the 8th floor of the same building that housed her room. There, Pepper led her to a conference room fully equipped with everything a board meeting might need. There was also a computer that was already open and set up.

"I want you to become acquainted with the material that we'll be working on over the next two weeks. It's an extension to what we covered on the jet—I was hoping we could go over it together, but there are some things I need to attend to at the moment. Hopefully, I'll be free in the afternoon to give you a tour of the facilities and then we'll be on our way to designing the suites." Pepper gave another smile, but this one seemed forced. Annabeth had a feeling that whatever she needed to "attend to" had something to do with the argument she'd just had with Tony.

Annabeth nodded, smiling back, and then Pepper was gone, leaving her alone in the conference room.

Fifteen minutes into the files on the computer and Annabeth leaned back, sighing and rubbing her eyes. This was definitely _not_ what she'd had in mind. Protocols, regulations, la—

"Um, excuse me?"

Annabeth's eyes snapped open and she spun around in her spinnable chair to find a young man hovering nervously at the doorway.

He was in his early twenties, with curly brown hair and a boyish face. He was dressed in a freshly ironed suit, most likely second hand, with brown loafers.

Annabeth's eyes narrowed. Her first reaction to strangers was always the same: suspicious. "Can I help you?"

The man licked his lips nervously, readjusting his hold on a folder that he held in the bend of his elbow. "Um, I'm here for the interview? The man in the lobby directed me to the 7th floor, but there was no one there, so I came here and saw this door open and—" the man's babble stopped and his feet shifted with more nervous energy. "I'm not in the right place, am I? Oh god, one interview and I manage to mess it up," he bemoaned.

Annabeth noted the ketchup stain on his white collar and his slightly crooked tie and wondered how difficult it would be to conduct an interview. It had to be better than going through all these files.

"Nope, you're in the right place!" Annabeth said, mustering a smile and standing up. She held out her hand. "Annabeth Chase. And you are?"

The man looked at her hand as if wondering if it were about to bite him, but finally took it in his own sweaty grasp, giving it a nervous shake. "Annabeth, hi—I mean, my name's not Annabeth. Not that that would be bad," he said quickly, his face turning red. "Oh god, sorry, I'm a nervous wreck right now. I'm Bruce—Bruce Blaisley."

Annabeth smiled, hoping that it would calm him. "Hi Bruce, nice to meet you." She gestured to one of the seats at the table. "Why don't you sit down and we can get this interview started?"

Bruce's head bobbed and he went to sit down, tripping slightly over his own feet as he did so.

Annabeth sat down across from him, lacing her fingers together and hoping that he'd be able to tell her what job he'd applied for.

"Um, I know the online application asked me to choose three positions that I would be interested in, but there really wasn't anything I could be except a secretary," Bruce swallowed nervously, clearly pained by the fact that his skills were limited. He continually avoided eye contact with Annabeth, which she found rather annoying. "I've, um, had a couple of part-time jobs, but I've got a lot of experience in office work, both online and at the desk, and . . ." Bruce looked at her before his eyes darted away again.

Annabeth frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Your eyes are really grey."

Bruce's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just blurted out and his hand shot to his mouth as he groaned. "I'm so, so sorry, I really didn't mean to say that, it's just—what's so funny?"

Annabeth shook her head, silent laughs shaking her body as she held her stomach.

"Don't laugh—they make me really nervous!" Bruce said earnestly, starting to laugh all the same. "Really, I'm serious!"

For a moment, the room was silent save for their moment of shared laughter. Then Annabeth straightened, giving an amused shake of her head. _Your eyes are really grey._ What a Percy-like thing to say.

"Look, I'm really sorry about that—it was unbelievably rude of me," Bruce said, her silence making him nervous once again.

"Do you want me to close my eyes for the rest of the interview?" Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Umm, you're joking, right?" Bruce asked hesitantly.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. " _Yes_. You're such a seaweed brain, sometimes."

As if she had just been punched, Annabeth immediately snapped her mouth shut with a near-silent groan. Oh gods, did she really just say that? _Why, why, why?_ Annabeth berated herself.

"Uh, I'll take that as a . . . compliment?" Bruce trailed off, obviously not knowing whether he should look offended or amused. To be honest, however, he seemed too timid a person to become offended.

"You're welcome," Annabeth said smoothly, covering her mistake. "Now, let's get this interview started—otherwise we'll still be talking by next week."

Bruce gave a hesitant smile, and then awkwardly cleared his throat. "Um, where was I . . . oh, right—I've got a lot of experience in office work and secretarial tasks. Here's my resumé . . ."

Annabeth took the proffered sheet from the sweaty fingers and read through it quickly. 3 part time jobs, all in the summer during college, one full-time job as a secretary . . . Annabeth frowned. "Why did you leave your last job?"

"Um, I quit," Bruce said, giving a small cough.

"Because . . . ?"

"Because I heard about this job opening. I know this is a temporary position—3 months maximum, until the this set of suites has been built, and then the position is replaced with a permanent secretarial position for someone with, um, more experience and credentials," Bruce's face reddened at that. "But . . . I mean, it's _Stark Industries_ ," He said, his voice suddenly dropping to an awed whisper. "This could be a start of a new career—something better, more interesting, and with better pay," he admitted, stumbling slightly over his words. His hands fidgeted with each other, stuck in a loop of constant tugging and wringing, but that didn't stop him from taking a deep breath and finally looking Annabeth in the eye. "Look, I know there are a lot of applicants for this job. But . . . this isn't just about money for me, and it's definitely not about a chance to meet Tony Stark. I _need_ this job. This is my fresh start to a new beginning."

Annabeth blinked in surprise, hearing herself in Bruce's words. Hadn't she come to LA for the very same thing? An opportunity that beckoned to her, called to her very being? And here was someone else, in the same position.

Annabeth laced her fingers together. "Well, we still need to interview the rest of the applicants," she said. "So I'll keep a hold of your resumé and give you a call as soon as we know if you've been hired."

Bruce beamed, looking almost giddy. "That's great!"

Annabeth stood, holding out her hand, and Bruce jumped to his feet, his chair shooting back several feet in his excitement as he shook his sweaty hand with hers.

"Well, nice meeting you, Bruce," Annabeth smiled. "Hopefully, we'll see each other again."

"Yeah—I mean, yes, definitely," Bruce's head bobbed—an endearing action that caused his curly hair to bounce lightly.

Annabeth walked him to the door, and with a small, nervous wave, Bruce was walking down the hall and out of sight.

Half an hour later, halfway through another set of protocols, Pepper walked into the room, looking hassled and rather frustrated.

"Annabeth! So sorry about the delay, honey—this last hour has been absolutely crazy." Pepper said, dumping a giant stack of files onto the table.

"No worries," Annabeth smiled. "Um, there was someone here about 30 minutes ago; he was here to be interviewed for a secretarial position. Bruce Blaisley?"

"Bruce . . . ? Oh my goodness, Mr. Blaisley! I completely forgot about the appointment!" Pepper groaned, checking her watch to find that it was almost an hour past the appointed interview time. "How—"

"I took the initiative of giving him an initial interview," Annabeth said, slightly hesitant and wondering if she had made a mistake. "He just found this room and mentioned that he was here for an interview, so we had a small conversation. He gave his resumé, as well," Annabeth said, pointing to the piece of paper on the table.

"You did the interview?" Pepper beamed. "That's great—thank you so much, Annabeth! I know that wasn't included in your job description—I'll make sure you're paid for the time."

"No, no," Annabeth said hurriedly. "There's no need, Miss. Po—"

"Oh, please, call me Pepper," she said. "No formalities like that—it makes me feel old." She winked. "And in turn, I'll continue to call you Annabeth. First name basis only, understood?"

Annabeth laughed. "Understood. But really, there's no need to pay me—I'm here to learn, not be paid."

Pepper gave her a warm smile. "Nevertheless, you are receiving a pay check at the end of these next two weeks, young lady. That's the bottom line," she said firmly, making it clear that Annabeth wouldn't be able to argue her way out. "But onto the other matter: how did you find Mr. Blaisley?"

Annabeth took a moment to consider. "Kind, very polite—a little nervous. He's a perfect fit for the position, however—a lot of experience in office work and secretarial positions."

Pepper nodded. "He does sound perfect—all the other applicants I've interviewed have been less than stellar," she said, making a face. "Far too many fans."

"Of one Pepper Potts?" Annabeth grinned.

Pepper laughed. "You're too kind. But no, only the one and great _Tony Stark_ ," she said, her face darkening.

So Annabeth's suspicions were further confirmed: there was some kind of argument boiling between Pepper and Tony.

"But enough from me—it's time to give you a tour of the facilities," Pepper said, casting away the stormy look. She led the way out of the conference room and out of the building, into the early afternoon, Californian sun. "First stop: we meet the construction crew."

. . .

The two women walked to an undeveloped area of the facilities on their own, unaccompanied by any construction workers or bodyguards, which surprised Annabeth. They transitioned from smooth, rich black pavement, to bumpy, grassy fields, heading towards a surveyed part of land marked with bright orange flags and wooden stakes.

"As you might have noticed," Pepper began, "Tony and I had an argument this morning. We've been working on this project forever, with so few hiccups, but then he dropped a bomb on me this morning." Pepper shook her head. "As I told you on the jet, the purpose of Project Retreat is to add a set of suites in every major Stark Industries location. They'll serve as Tony's private office, in a way. Any kind of project of this size requires a great deal of money and resources, and most importantly: labour. And so Tony thought to remove the need to hire people and hired this crew instead."

The two women crested a hill to look upon a standard site. Materials were being gathered: massive rods of steel, towering piles of sand and gravel . . . but wait, what was that?

No. It couldn't be.

"Are those . . . ?" Annabeth trailed off, disbelieving of what she was laying her eyes on.

Pepper gave a disapproving shake of her head, pursing her lips into one severe line. "Yes, they're exactly what you see. Meet the new construction crew."

"Androids."

* * *

 **Voila! I plan for the next update to come within 7 days . . . Hopefully I keep to that schedule. Just this one time, I'll let you guys badger me, just to keep me on my toes and to ensure that I do post the chapter within the time limit. So if you ever had the urge to send something along the lines of "UPDATE PLEASE" but never did because you're too polite, I'll accept it for this chapter - but only this one time ;)**

 **Constructive criticism is always welcome!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **HunterofArtemis: Wow, thank you! It was a definite confidence booster when I read your review - I'm glad you like the story :) Lately, chapters have been coming every few weeks, but now that I'm returning school, chapter should be coming once a week. I rarely have a consistent update schedule, unfortunately . . . Sorry about that :(**

 **Rena Monica: Thanks!**

 **Guest (Aug. 3): LOL**


	24. Civil War: Shards of Broken Bonds

**So, I obviously did not make my 7 day deadline. School life has now returned for some of us, and I'm actually entering my first year in college. So, my updates are probably coming biweekly now. It's unfortunate, but I wanted to be honest with you, considering that I keep promising that the next update will come sooner, and usually doesn't.**

 **However, this does not mean I'm abandoning this story - that will NEVER happen. And I don't use that word lightly. I love this story tomuch to leave it. It will be finished; I promise you that.**

 **But besides that, thank you for all of the reviews - they're absolutely delightful to read, and I look forward to reading more :)**

 **For those of you in school: good luck, don't stress too much, and try to have some fun :) And for those of you who are off doing other things: good luck, don't stress too much, and try to have some fun :) This is my advice for life in general, as you can see.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **[Annabeth]**

 _No. It couldn't be._

 _"Are those . . . ?" Annabeth trailed off, disbelieving of what she was laying her eyes on._

 _Pepper gave a disapproving shake of her head, pursing her lips into one severe line. "Yes, they're exactly what you see. Meet the new construction crew."_

 _"Androids."_

Annabeth couldn't help but stare. The crew of robots only a few dozen metres below her had mostly humanoid bodies, save for the strange variety of appendages that many of them possessed. Chainsaws for arms, pulley systems extending out of the feet of androids that were using repulsors to hover in the air, and many others. She also noticed that Pepper's face was slowly darkening the longer she looked upon the scene before her. Evidently, the CEO of Stark Industries was irate, to say the least.

But nevertheless, professionalism was overcoming whatever internal conflict was roiling inside Pepper, because when she spoke, Annabeth could barely hear the tremor of anger within her voice.

"After the Ultron offensive, people became afraid of Tony's Iron Legion."

. . .

 **[Pepper]**

The Iron Legion.

Pepper could remember that time vividly. After the aliens invaded New York, Tony went through a . . . phase. He changed. He spent so many hours shut up in his workshop, and it was only weeks later that she found out that he was building more suits. More Iron Man suits. God, as if one wasn't bad enough. But then there was that damned butler, and the guard, walking around the house and across the grounds, entirely remote controlled by Tony. She couldn't feel safe. It was as if she was no longer at home, but in a prison. She couldn't take it.

But then, after the battle against Aldrich Killian, something happened. Tony changed for the better. He invoked the Clean Slate Program and destroyed all of his suits—the best gift Pepper could ever ask for. Because it didn't just mean that she no longer had to fight with his machines to have Tony for herself, but she could have the Tony whom she had fallen in love with. Not the one who internalized everything, and was always sleep-deprived, and who possessed a self-destructive belief that he held the solution to everything, but the one who was terribly sarcastic, and horribly rude, and the one who could love her and whom she could love in return.

Her Tony.

And then Tony changed again. He built the Iron Legion: an army of remote-controlled droids inspired by the Iron Man suit. Because apparently, Tony hadn't changed enough; apparently, he still needed his suits of armour, his droids of iron. And after the Ultron Offensive, people became deathly afraid of the Iron Legion; after all, the hundreds of sentries that Ultron eventually built in Sokovia bore a chilling resemblance to the droids of the Iron Legion. And with people unable to put their faith in the Legion, Tony got rid of them.

And apparently, repurposed them. Turned them into construction workers. Controlled by Friday the AI and running on arc reactors, these droids would have the new set of suites up and running within a few weeks of drawing up the designs. After all, they didn't require sleep, nor food, nor water—none of the costly necessities that humans needed.

But Pepper didn't tell all of this to Annabeth. It was too long and too personal. She simply said, "Tony repurposed his Iron Legion to produce several construction crews."

Annabeth frowned, evidently picking up on her unease. She was a perceptive girl. "And why is this a bad thing?"

Pepper gritted her teeth.

When Tony destroyed the entirety of his suits, Pepper was beyond ecstatic.

She was proud.

And then he created the Iron Legion and went back to being Iron Man. Which she tried to accept; after all, he wasn't just her hero—he was millions of other peoples' hero.

And then she learned of the construction crews.

She was beyond irate. She was disappointed. She felt let down. She felt betrayed. This was so much worse than a "bad thing".

God, she couldn't deal with this. Back and forth, up and down, this way and that—for the entirety of the time that Pepper had known Tony, this was how it was. He made promises that he eventually broke. He destroyed even while he believed he was protecting others. He hurt while he healed. And in the centre of it all, there was his suits.

Tony was like a drug addict. He couldn't _stay away from his suits._

Even in the form of a construction crew, Pepper couldn't stand to see the droids. To have them near or far. They reminded her that even while she was in love with Tony, Tony was having an affair. He couldn't give all his time and love to her. They reminded her of Aldrich Killian, and the fact that as long as she was involved with Tony, the two of them would always be thrown into dangerous situations. They reminded her of Tony's promise to do away with his suits, and the fact that he had broken it so many times these past few years. Too many times.

"It's complicated," Pepper said, not even bothering to hide her grimace now. She had spent her entire morning trying to get Tony on the phone again, but he must have recognized that she was beyond angry with him now, considering that his phone was continually redirected to Friday. "Let me show you the rest of the facilities," she said, trying for a smile.

Annabeth let herself be led away.

. . .

 **[Annabeth]**

The two women spent the majority of the day together, Pepper acting as a tour guide to Annabeth. They visited several labs, spoke to important people, and met with the head architecture of Project Retreat, who praised Annabeth greatly for her blueprints and notes, which had been forwarded to her by Pepper. Of course, Pepper Potts was a very busy woman, and so their tour was constantly interrupted by calls and errands. After finishing an early dinner on her own, Annabeth spent a few minutes sitting among palm trees, observing her environment. Soon enough, Pepper returned with someone trailing behind her.

"I believe the two of you have already met," Pepper smiled, stepping aside to reveal the stranger.

Annabeth blinked in surprise, quickly getting to her feet. "Bruce!"

Bruce Blaisley stood awkwardly before Annabeth, giving a small wave. "Um, hey—Annabeth, right?"

Annabeth nodded. "What are you doing here?" She asked curiously.

"Bruce here is our new secretary!" Pepper smiled. "I just took the last half an hour to make the necessary arrangements—he'll be starting tomorrow."

"You got the job? That's fantastic!" Annabeth beamed. "Congratulations!"

Bruce flushed a deep red, unused to all of the attention he was receiving. "Th-Thanks!"

"Perry will show you where you'll be working," Pepper gestured to a man who remained standing in the background, bearing a permanently genial smile on his face.

Bruce nodded, and with a gesture from Perry, the two men left.

"Sorry about that, Annabeth." Pepper gave must have been her dozenth apologetic smile of the day. "I don't usually handle the hiring process, but we wanted to ensure that security surrounding Project Retreat was upheld at our highest standards."

Annabeth nodded, understanding partially. It was Stark Industries, and its headquarters, no less. Tight security was to be expected. But she couldn't help but notice that there were one too many files labelled confidential, that a cart of steel boxes had been carefully unloaded from the jet that brought her here, and that it was highly convenient that the construction crew of droids could serve the dual duty of both 24/7 workers and 24/7 guards armed with lethal repulsor technology.

And all of it surrounded Project Retreat.

Pepper had already mentioned countless times that the purpose of the project was to build a set of suites that would serve as Tony's private office. Annabeth supposed that the five fully furnished private offices already existing in the headquarter's five tallest buildings wasn't enough. Perhaps Tony needed yet another state of the art workshop that would make Leo's eyes bug out of his skull. But Annabeth was beginning to wonder if this new set of suites was to serve an alternative purpose besides giving Tony more space to tinker with more new toys.

But she couldn't dwell much longer on those thoughts, because Pepper soon led her back to her room with a promise that tomorrow would involve more work and fun, and then she was in her bed and thinking about camp. She'd been so busy the entire day that she hadn't found the time to IM Percy or anyone else, and she was also worried about who might be watching; there were security cameras everywhere, and she'd heard Friday overhead every once in a while.

No, she couldn't risk it. She'd just have to find a time tomorrow when she could go off-site and safely contact camp.

But at the present moment, she was tired from the day-long tour, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

. . .

 **[Tony]**

Tony arrived at LA on Sunday morning, not the least bit concerned about what was waiting for him in his office.

He had been on the receiving end of Pepper's rage many times before; he knew how it turned out. He would attempt to explain himself before giving her a couple of days (or weeks, depending) to cool off, and then they'd be good again. It wasn't him being flippant about their relationship; it was just what happened between the two of them. It was an on-and-off kind of thing.

So when he finally got to his floor, he was surprised to find Annabeth behind the secretary's desk and Pepper nowhere to be found. And who was that behind Annabeth . . . ?

"T-Tony Stark!" The man (or was he a boy?) stuttered. If his eyes got any bigger, they would have popped out of his skull. "I mean, Mr. Stark!"

Annabeth looked up from the tablet that she was working on and gave a startled smile. "Mr. Stark! I didn't know you'd be coming—"

"And yet I'm here," Tony said, throwing his arms wide. "And I know I'm your boss now, but call me Tony. You're a friend after all."

"R-really?" The boy asked, blinking rapidly.

Tony frowned at him. "Not you. But you can get me some coffee," he said, looking at him with an expectant smile.

The boy flew up from his seat. "Of course, Mr. Stark, right away!" He came out from behind the desk and hurried out of the room.

"It's not right to treat your own employees like that," Annabeth said, frowning at Tony. "Just a piece of advice from one "friend" to another."

Tony turned, looking back to where the boy had left, and then back to Annabeth. "Employee? _Employee?_ Umm, no. I would never hire someone like that. Is he even 18?"

Annabeth's frown deepened. "He's 26, for your information, and Pepper hired him yesterday."

Tony sniffed with disdain. "I don't like him."

Annabeth shrugged. "Well that's too bad—he's already been hired."

"Kid still looks underage." Tony continued.

"He's not a kid," Annabeth said, looking at him with disapproval. "And his name is Bruce Blaisley."

"Bruce Blaisley? What kind of name is that? Sounds like Plaisley," Tony muttered. "And pasty." And Bruce for a first name . . . yup, Tony didn't like the kid _at all._

"Then you can go talk to Pepper and have him let go, considering that she's in charge of the hiring process and not you," Annabeth said, giving him a knowing smile.

Damn, she probably knew that something was going on between him and Pepper at the moment. There was no way that he was going to go to Pepper now and ask her to start firing just-hired employees.

And yet . . . he was going to have to talk to Pepper at one point or another. Tony sighed in resignation. "Where is she?"

Annabeth beamed. "5th floor."

. . .

In a move of rare respect, Tony knocked on the door before opening it and walking into the office. Or perhaps he was just nervous. He wasn't sure.

The red-haired woman working behind the desk, looking at her tablet, didn't even raise her head. It was as if she hadn't heard him walk in.

Tony shifted onto the back of his heels, clearing his throat. "Hey."

Pepper Potts finally raised her head and blinked in mock surprise. "Well hello, Mr. Stark! What a surprise! I didn't realize you had the decency to knock." The sarcasm that dripped from her words was thinly veiled by a false smile.

Tony slid his hands into his pant pockets. "Yes, well, I do it from time to time. Keeps me on my toes."

Pepper wasn't impressed. In fact, she was struggling to keep a lid on the emotions roiling within her. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"Pepper—"

"I can't deal with it anymore!" Pepper steamrolled right over him, suddenly standing up. "I can't—I just can't!" She wrung her hands. "The suits, everywhere, all the time! That's all you care about anymore!"

Tony cleared his throat. "Well, let's sit down and talk about it."

Pepper gave a humourless laugh. "And what? Make another promise that you'll break?"

"No, we'll _talk_ ," Tony pressed. "It's on the news all the time—we'll talk like a normal couple, and—"

"We're not a normal couple!" Pepper shouted, almost sobbing now, because it was so, so clear that Tony still didn't understand. "We have _never_ been a normal couple! If we were, I wouldn't have to worry about you every second of everyday, while you flew around—"

"I still care about you," Tony said, injured. "I couldn't care more for you if we were married," he joked.

"You're married to your suits!" Pepper shouted. "You chose them, and your 'superhero life'! You chose them over me!"

Tony blinked, taken aback by the fierceness of Pepper's anger. "No, I didn't," he said, slowly approaching her. "Pepper, I lo—"

"Don't." She snapped, her tearful eyes flaring. "Don't you dare say those words—not after what you've done."

"Pepper—"

"Get out." She said quietly. Her whole body was shaking as a storm of emotions whirled within her.

" _Pepper—_ "

"GET OUT!" She roared, a terrible voice erupting out from her as the internal maelstrom exploded.

Tony swallowed, then bowed his head and retreated out of the room.

Pepper sank to the ground, sobbing, as the storm within her fell away to eternal rain.

* * *

 **[Percy]**

Percy awoke Sunday morning with a certain degree of eagerness. After all, Annabeth hadn't IM'd yesterday, most likely because she hadn't found the right opportunity, which meant that she was guaranteed to IM him today. After all, Annabeth could only survive so long before she caved to her need for information on the comings and goings of camp.

And so Percy set off for breakfast with a certain smile playing about his face that many demigods couldn't help but share as they passed by him.

And then that same smile slowly slid off his face as he arrived at the mess hall pavilion to find a small but growing crowd of demigods standing off to the side, all eyes turned towards a certain dryad standing at the centre of attention. And more interestingly, a growing crowd of tree nymphs was mingling at the steps of the pavilion.

". . . wars! Two wars, after both of which, the demigods were welcomed back as heroes, their arms laden with gifts generously given by the gods!" Querci shouted, her dark golden eyes surveying them all. "And yet, we, the wild spirits—we were forgotten! We returned home to nurse our own wounds, and watched from the sidelines as these demigods celebrated their newfound peace." Querci's gaze swung unnervingly towards Percy, and her eyes hardened. "We have fought for the gods and their children for many centuries—for too many centuries. But no longer." Querci turned to face the now very large crowd of tree nymphs, all of whom held their breath as the oaken dryad addressed them in a ringing tone. "Sisters, brethren, join me. Leave these whom you wrongly call comrades and join my company, where you will be treated as equals, where no courting gods will use and discard you, and where the only ones you must look up to are your fellow sisters."

Nobody moved as a stunned silence followed Querci's powerful words.

Then: "Querci, please, let us talk—it doesn't have to be this way," Piper said quietly, placating.

Querci turned her hard gaze to the daughter of Aphrodite. "Your enchanted words are wasted on me, child. Speak no more. You believe I am willing to negotiate? That I am in a lenient mood? That the very lives of my sisters and myself can be bargained?"

Piper unknowingly gained several degrees of respect among her fellow demigods as she resolutely stood her ground, her gaze unflinching beneath Querci's. "No, I don't. But I believe that you are hurting, and that the disregard that the gods have recently given you is a hint of something much more painful. You have been ignored and mistreated for too long, and I'm sorry."

Several demigods blinked tears out of their eyes, the sudden regret and grief that ached in their chests making it hard for them to not reach out to Querci and comfort her. A dangerous move that would probably involve the loss of several limbs.

"Let us help you," Piper implored. "Talk to us; help to clear the misunderstandings. Let us help you, please."

Wrong thing to say. Querci's eyes were blazing with anger as she took a threatening step towards Piper. " _'Misunderstandings? Misunderstandings?_ You believe it was a misunderstanding that brought me here now, that brought us all to where we are now?"

Piper eyes widened as she realized her mistake. "No, no, that's not what I—"

"That perhaps if the gods hadn't misunderstood us and our situation, they would have treated us better?" Querci hissed, advancing on her. "That perhaps if you had not misunderstood us, we would not be serving you food everyday like slaves? That Aeolus would not treat the cloud nymphs like filth and slaughter them when he liked? That Zeus would not court nymphs who found him unwelcome and that Aphrodite would not use us like dolls, our hearts twisted to her desire?" Querci's voice quieted to a harsh whisper. "That perhaps, if we had not been misunderstood, the gods would have returned my prayers and dealt justice where it was due?"

Piper hung her head low, no longer able to meet the dryad's accusing gaze.

Querci stepped back from the demigod, her features no less merciless. "Join me brethren. Join me, and leave the betrayals and misunderstandings that the gods and their children have filled your lives with."

And in the dazed silence, the dryad strode away, out of camp.

. . .

Leo got to Piper first, attempting to console her with his cheeky grin and a forced joke. "Well, thank the gods she didn't invite us to join her, as well. I don't think I could live in Central Park for more than a day."

Percy shot Leo a dark look and the demigod shut his mouth with a grimace. Then he turned to Piper. "What happened to all the death threats?"

"Apparently, Querci sent prayers to the gods, asking them to execute you, and they didn't respond. The ultimate silent treatment," Leo grinned, unable to help himself.

Percy ignored the last part, trying to process everything. It looked as if Querci wasn't even concerned about trying to serve justice anymore; she felt wronged by all demigods _and_ gods. Noticing that Piper had fallen quiet, Percy tried to give her what felt like an assuring smile, but his heart wasn't in it. Querci's condemning words were still ringing in his ears. "Piper, don't worry about—"

"She's right," Piper swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"Whoa, Pipes, you can't believe anything that witch says!" Leo exclaimed.

"She _is_ right," Percy sighed.

Leo blinked. Did Percy just agree with Piper? He peered at the two of them, wondering if he was being victim to yet another prank. "You're kidding, right? I didn't just hear you agree with the nymph that tried to get you executed, right?"

Percy groaned, rubbing his eyes. This was getting too confusing. Here he was, wanting to put Querci in the wrong, when it was starting to appear as if she was actually in the right, and all the demigods were in the wrong, instead. He had honestly never considered the situation of the wild spirits; he didn't know many of them, after all. Besides one or two conversations with Juniper, and what Grover told him, he knew nothing, really. Or rather, he'd _known_ nothing. Now, he knew quite a bit. Enough to make his head bow in shame, and for guilt to churn in his stomach. And he could tell that many of his fellow campers felt the same, judging by the fact that they kept their eyes averted from the dispersing crowd of nymphs who were returning to the forest while whispering among themselves.

"The wild spirits suffered huge losses in the Second Titan War," Percy explained quietly. "And last year, with Gaea trying to rise, a lot of nymphs loyal to the gods were killed."

"It's not like we didn't have any casualties on our side," Leo pointed out. "Dude, for a hundredth of a second, _I_ was one of those casualties!"

"And did you see any of the surviving nymphs invited to the celebrations after the war?" Piper asked quietly. "Did you any burial shrouds burned for them?"

Leo opened his mouth, but this time, he had no response. Because Piper was right; the demigods hadn't aided the wild spirits a great deal. In fact, the satyrs had tended to the majority of the nymphs' needs, helping the injured and tending to the dead. Finally, the demigod deflated, looking rather defeated. "But, we can still do stuff—there must be something we can do," he said vaguely.

Piper pursed her lips. "Maybe. I don't know."

She and Percy traded a rare look of understanding: this wasn't just about them anymore; it was about the gods. It was possible that this was a situation in which they could do nothing but wait and watch.

* * *

 **[Jason]**

It was the middle of the evening on Sunday that Jason began to notice that something was amiss.

Where were the fauns?

The half-human, half-goat beggars were banned from camp, but they always found a way in, nevertheless. And yet, as the day transitioned into evening, Jason realized that he had yet to be stopped by a faun and asked for money. Or had his food stolen. Or had articles of clothing go missing.

So it was a surprise when Jason, as he was making his way back to the eagles' roost as part of their daily check up after the bird apocalypse incident, bumped into Don the Faun. Wearing his custom Hawaiian shirt and ridiculous rainbow sunglasses, the afro-tooting faun was too busy with asking Jason for denarii to hear what the demigod was asking him.

"Man, come on, help a bro in need!" Don said, giving a winning smile.

Jason repeated his question, keeping a secure hand on his pockets. "Where are all the other fauns? Jon? Ron?"

"Oh, they left for New York," Don said, shrugging. "This Querci lady is really stirring up some hype."

Jason blinked. "Querci? The dryad?"

Don snorted. "Who else? You know any other tree nymph called Querci? Only one, dude, and she's in New York."

"But why are fauns going to meet her?" Jason asked, confused.

"Because it's the next age, man! Golden Age, Faun Age, Wild Age, whatever. She's gone totally rogue and turned her back on the gods—completely on her own now. And she's trying to rally other wild spirits. Lots of nymphs are migrating," Don added, his eyes turning dreamy all of a sudden before his star-struck gaze faded. "So some fauns decided to leave and head for Central Park," he shrugged, disinterested. Evidently, the faun saw no benefit to joining Querci.

"But you're not going . . . ?"

"Nope. This is the life, man! Free food, money—the works! Don't need nothin' else! The other fauns are just looking for trouble—they think that they're heading towards a better life." Don shrugged again. "But hey, you got any change?"

Jason finally relented and gave the faun a couple denarii before sending him on his way. Then he found a quiet place to sit and contemplate what he'd just learned.

Querci. Word about the conflict between her and Percy and Annabeth had travelled to Camp Jupiter relatively quickly, so Jason knew the majority of what was going on. It didn't sound pretty, and it certainly looked as if the situation had become ten times worse. Nymphs migrating? Did that include those from Camp Half-Blood? What those that resided in Camp Jupiter? The Aurae who helped in the Dining Hall?

And if fauns were migrating . . . Jason suddenly felt a strange stab of guilt. It was the choice of the fauns to sit around and not work, and yet, the camp had never treated fauns very well. Were they leaving because they were suddenly tired of being beggars? Of being looked down upon?

Jason got to his feet and hurried down the path, determined to find Renya and Frank.

. . .

 **[Percy]**

Things back at Camp Half-Blood were in fact significantly worse.

While Camp Jupiter only relied on the Aurae (otherwise known as wind spirits) to serve food, whether it be in the Dining Hall or during times of battle, Camp Half-Blood was heavily dependent on their resident nymphs for a multitude of reasons.

The forest in the camp was made up primarily of dryads; everyday, one could witness dozens of elfin girls flit in and out of the trees, going about their various tasks. Helping satyrs with the maintenance of the strawberry fields and acting as tireless sentinels along the camp's boundary. Every time a threat arose in the camp, the forest came alive with fighters who defended the camp as ferociously as the next demigod. Many satyrs were in a lifetime relationship with a nymph. Even the naiads were a comforting sight to see, as gossip-centered and flirtatious as they might be. Every demigod in the camp had made a friend in a nymph one way or another.

So to watch, helpless, as many of these same nymphs, now stony-faced and proud, turned their eyes away from the camp and melted into a now very silent forest . . . it hurt. Like a stab in the back.

Which made it all the worse, because had the demigods not stabbed them in the back first, with their disregard and ignorance of their situation?

This tangle of thoughts was what ran through Percy's head as he sat at the head counselor meeting in the Big House, which was still undergoing renovations.

Malcolm, the temporary head counselor of the Athena cabin in Annabeth's absence, asked the burning question. "What are we going to do?"

"What can we do?" Piper asked quietly. Or perhaps dejectedly. Ever since her encounter with Querci, it seemed as if all the fight had left the daughter of Aphrodite.

"What can _they_ do?" Clarisse pointed out bluntly. "Nothing. It's not like the nymphs can travel all the way to Central Park—that's way too far from their trees. They're stuck."

"Querci's powerful," Grover said, looking understandably upset. After all, as not only a Cloven Elder but the one who found Pan, the satyr had many close ties to the nymphs of both Central Park and camp. To watch Querci pit the two communities against one another, and force nymphs to choose sides, was absolutely devastating. The Council of Cloven Elders was already in ruins, with two of the four satyrs having already left just hours ago, claiming that satyrs had a right to their neighbour wild spirits to support and back them. After that, another dozen satyrs went absent from the strawberry fields. At this rate, there would be no one to fill the role of Keepers, satyrs who went out into the mortal world to find and safely bring back demigods. "If there's a way, she'll find it—if she hasn't already."

Malcolm nodded in understanding. "She wouldn't have invited other nymphs to Central Park unless she was sure that they could go in the first place."

"Perhaps we can try and stop them," Lou Ellen said absentmindedly, playing with a rabbit's ear. Percy couldn't tell if it was real or not.

"If they want to leave, let them," Clarisse snorted. "We don't want traitors in the camp."

"They are still our friends, my dear," Chiron reminded her sternly. The centaur was sitting in his collapsible wheelchair, the beginnings of a severe frown on his face. He had been in the Big House when Querci gave her resounding speech, but he had been given enough reports to know very well what had occurred. And it certainly did not bode well. "The relationship between wild spirits and demigods is a long and rich one; do not let this one incident erase all of that history. That being said, if so many nymphs and satyrs are choosing to leave, then it appears there is indeed a fracture in the relationship."

"So we heal the fracture," Will said sensibly. "Ask Querci to come back and show her that we're willing to listen and change."

"Piper tried that," Leo pointed out. "Didn't go over so well, no offense Pipes."

Piper managed a weak smile.

"What are you thinking, Percy?" Chiron turned towards the unusually quiet demigod, his eyes closely examining him.

Percy was in fact thinking about Annabeth. And more specifically, he was thinking about what he going to say to Annabeth. She was going to IM him at some point today; what was he supposed to tell her? That nearly all the nymphs of the camp were turning their backs on them? That satyrs were leaving? That the strawberry fields and the forest were falling silent? Annabeth would drop everything and make her way straight here if he told her that, and that was the last thing he wanted; Stark Industries was where Annabeth was meant to be.

However, Percy was also considering what to do concerning Querci. He had the makings of a plan . . . "How about we go to her?"

"As in, Central Park?" Travis Stoll asked.

Connor Stoll wrinkled his nose. "Enemy turf? Not a really good idea. I liked the idea where we invited her to come back here."

The dark mischief in their eyes spoke volumes.

Katie Gardner frowned severely at them, reminding Percy of her godly mother, Demeter. "We're not here to start a war, Stoll."

"I think going to Querci is a good idea," Malcolm said. "It gives her control, lets her choose the location, the time. Maybe it will put her in a more lenient mood."

Percy nodded. "We apologize, and agree to change things here at camp. I mean . . ." He took a deep breath, reluctant to what he was about to say, but recognizing that it was the truth. "We've never treated them properly before."

Piper nodded in agreement. "I want to believe that we look to them as equals, but then when you think about our wars, and the aftermaths . . . and like Querci pointed out, they've never been treated very well by the gods."

"We haven't either," Clarisse said bluntly.

Everybody winced, automatically looking out the window for the telltale thunder, and even Chiron closed his eyes momentarily.

When the thunder didn't come, Piper finally responded. "Yes, but . . . I think we're still treated better. We're the gods' children—they support us. Not always, and sometimes it seems like never, but they're always there. Watching. But the nymphs? They only have Dionysus, and he was sent here to camp as punishment for chasing a nymph! And if you saw how Aeolus treated the wind spirits in his palace . . . it was terrible." Piper finished quietly.

"So you think that going to Central Park and begging Querci to accept our apology would be better?" Clarisse snorted. "I'm not doing any of that."

"We'll be having a real conversation," Malcolm said, annoyed with Clarisse's exceptionally blunt attitude. "No one will be doing any begging."

"So you say," Clarisse muttered.

"Okay, then don't be a part of it!" Malcolm snapped, the high tensions of the day finally getting to the son of Athena. "Stay here, and let others do the work!"

Clarisse's face darkened instantly; the demigod did not take kindly to rebukes of any kind. She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor, and stomped out of the Big House.

The mood of the room immediately became exhausted. If this was what happened within the first few hours of the conflict between demigods and wild spirits, with patience and tensions growing thin on both sides, Percy wondered what would be happening a week from now.

"Um, what's going on? Did somebody die?"

Everybody turned to find Nico Di Angelo standing by the door, a look of concern on his face.

Percy got up, suddenly feeling an urge to get out of the room. "Come on, I'll explain."

"But—" Nico spared one look towards Will, before reluctantly allowing himself to be ushered out of the room by Percy and into the evening light.

* * *

 **Alright, PMs and responses to reviews for FF accounts will go out tomorrow. Constructive criticism is always welcome :)**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Guest (Giulia; Sept. 5th):** _Wow, the thing with your sister; that's hilarious, lol! It's awesome that you love my writing - I hope you enjoy this newest chapter :) And for sure, tensions are rising ;) And Bruce - well, I wasn't intending for him to interfere with Percy and Annabeth's relationship - he actually has a different purpose, which you'll see soon, hopefully ;)_

 **Guest (Aug. 29th):** _Wow, your_ _review was super heartening to read - thank you, and I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter! And good luck in school :)_

 **Cool Panther:** _Haha, that's great to hear! Hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!_

 **HunterofArtemis:** _The "gods" thing_ _was actually a mistake on my part, unfortunately - I'm so sorry about that, especially considering that you actually put thought into it :( :( Bruce will actually serve a different purpose, which will hopefully become apparent soon._

 **Bhanu:** _Thank you! And don't worry; Bruce is not intended to interfere with their relationship very much - he has a very different purpose ;)_

 **Guest (Aug. 27th):** _I will give a hesitant 'yes' for now . . . but I can't reveal anymore details, unfortunately ;)_


	25. Civil War: Whisper of Lingering Lies

**Okay, so I think you can probably guess why this update took so long, so I won't go into it.**

 **First of all, thank you to Minjad for their newest and improved story cover! It's absolutely fantastic, and I love that you took the time and effort to do that for someone who is essentially a stranger. Just goes to show how awesome you are, and how FF brings people together :)**

 **Furthermore, the story really is kicking into Civil War gear now! YAY! I will indeed be going through the majority of scenes from the movie, with narration and such. I'll also be adding some of my own stuff, just to ensure that the plotline is fully integrated into the story—so pay close attention ;) Not everything in the upcoming chapters will be from the movie. It's a daunting task, and I know that I will never be able to properly portray the movie through words, but please bear with me. And provide constructive criticism! I'm always welcome to constructive criticism :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Whisper of Lingering** **Lies**

 **"**

 _A lie is a wound._

 _Poisoned with festering words, bleeding from gashes cut with deceit, hidden from view._

 _You don't see the damage you have wreaked until it is too late._

 **"**

 **Percy**

Nico's silence after Percy had recounted everything was more than a little irksome. He was already frustrated from the rather unsuccessful council meeting that had just been held; he needed some concrete answers at the moment.

"Well?" Percy said impatiently. "What are you thinking?"

Nico looked at him. "That you really screwed up this time."

Percy gave a heavy sigh. That wasn't helpful. "It wasn't me—it was Querci. I didn't even do anything!"

Nico gave him a scrutinizing look. Usually, Percy always did _something_. The son of Poseidon didn't have to look for trouble, and trouble didn't have to find him—he _was_ trouble. It was bad enough that he was the son of one of the Big Three (though demigods rarely used that term now), but pair that with his uniquely irritating personality and the present fact that he was friends with several of the Avengers . . . well, it was a bomb just waiting to explode.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Nico wondered when he'd hear the _KABOOM!_

"What has Annabeth said about this?" Nico finally asked.

The strange look that suddenly came over Percy's face was hard to pin down for a moment, but Nico quickly recognized it. "You didn't tell her everything, did you?" Nico guessed.

Percy winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, she hasn't IM'd me yet . . ."

"You haven't told her _anything_?" Nico exclaimed.

" . . . No."

"Percy—"

"I just don't want her to get worried!" Percy burst out. "If I tell her about Querci, then she'll drop everything and come back here." And that was the _last_ thing Percy wanted—the first thing he wanted was for Annabeth to be happy. She deserved it, and he'd seen her face over and over again, first when she stepped into Avengers Tower, and again when she met Tony Stark, and again when she got the job—she was truly, genuinely, happy. Percy wasn't going to take that away from her.

Nico evidently didn't share his concerns, however. "We all have to sacrifice something, Percy. It's a job—she can go back to it later, once all of this has been settled."

Percy shook his head, knowing that that wasn't true. If she came back to Camp, she'd never go back to LA—she'd stay here, convinced that she needed to oversee everything. Because being a demigod was a job as well—a lifetime commitment. And more and more often, it seemed to eat up what little time they had left to actually live life.

"What could she do, anyway?" Percy pointed out. "This is all on Querci now—nothing any of us said changed her mind. Even Piper couldn't convince her." Percy shook his head, making his decision. "No, I'm not going to tell Annabeth."

"You're not going to tell me what?"

With a sudden lump of apprehension in his throat, Percy turned around to see Annabeth hovering a few feet away, her piercing gray eyes searching him through the IM.

. . .

Percy swallowed. "Uh, it's nothing, just—"

"Percy Jackson, don't lie to me." Annabeth warned.

Percy was suddenly glad that his girlfriend was miles away in California, and not within punching range. Or dagger range. "No, I just—"

"What are you hiding from me? Is it Querci?" When he didn't respond, her eyes narrowed. "It is, isn't it?"

"What? No!" Percy grabbed Nico before the demigod could high-tail his way out of the potentially explosive situation, and hauled him back into the frame of the IM. "Nico came back with some news from the Underworld."

Annabeth turned her surveillance-like eyes to Nico, who managed to remain seemingly undaunted, to his credit. For a second, Percy wondered if Nico would listen to him and keep the situation with Querci to himself. He fervently hoped so. If not, Annabeth's chance at her life's dream would be ruined. And then Percy would probably want to strangle the son of Hades. It wasn't like he hadn't had the urge to do so before. Nico had a tendency to make decisions that often irked Percy. Like when he—

"Yes, I have some news from the Underworld." Nico said, nodding.

Percy wanted to give Nico a hug, but restrained himself.

Some of Annabeth's suspicion fell away as her interest was piqued. "About the rogue sparti? And the dead birds?"

"Only something that may be related to the sparti," Nico said apologetically. "And I don't think my father was involved in either of the two."

"He told you so?" Annabeth asked, obviously not expecting outright honesty from the god of the dead.

Nico shook his head, laughing a little at such a notion. "No—he would never tell me. But he looked surprised when I told him about the sparti—and afterwards, he acted disinterested." Nico shrugged. "Usually, when he does that, he's interested. He just doesn't want others to know that he is."

Percy rolled his eyes. That was Hades alright—an egotistical jerk. Among other things.

"And if he's interested," Nico continued. "It means he didn't know anything about it before I told him. The sparti was news to him. And the birds . . . well, I think that time he really actually didn't care about them." Nico shrugged. "Or at least I think so. He kicked me out of his palace pretty quickly."

Percy blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Nico sighed, clearly frustrated. "Because he's Hades?"

"Fair enough."

"So, if you didn't get anything from Hades, what _did_ you find out?" Annabeth frowned.

"Well, afterwards, I visited the Fields of Asphodel and the Fields of Punishment."

Percy shifted uneasily, his thoughts briefly turning to the hellish place and the many horrible things that went on down there.

"And?" Annabeth asked expectantly.

"And there were sparti missing," Nico said grimly. "Not many—too few for my 'very busy' father to notice, but enough for me to notice. Guards here and there, their stations abandoned." Nico shook his head, biting his lip. "This has never happened before—they're essentially programmed to obey only Hades. I can't say for sure that the sparti that have been spotted topside are the same from my father's legions, but if they _are_. . ." Nico trailed off, looking very troubled.

Annabeth understood. "Then there's a breach. There's a breach in your father's domain."

Nico nodded. "Yes. A hole somewhere in the Underworld, and sparti that we have no control over, wandering in the mortal world."

Percy summed it up. "That's just perfect."

. . .

Afterwards, Nico left Percy and Annabeth alone so that they could talk in private, and more specifically for Annabeth, in the privacy of a public bathroom outside of Stark Industries HQ. Evidently, Annabeth hadn't IM'd yesterday because she hadn't been able to get away from all the listening ears.

"The facility is massive!" Annabeth said, looking as excited as when she had started drawing up blueprints for the Camp's new cabins. "We just started the designing process today, and there's so much to do!"

Percy grinned, happy that Annabeth was happy. "I guess Tony's pretty happy that he hired you."

And just like that, Annabeth's face fell. "I think something happened between him and Pepper,"

"What do you mean?"

"Tony was supposed to stay until Wednesday, but he's already left for MIT to give some kind of speech." Annabeth said quietly. "I think it has something to do with the crew of androids he's using for the construction of the building wing that we're designing."

Percy frowned. "'Crew of androids?'" He knew enough about Tony, and has seen enough of the havoc wreaked by the Iron Man suit and Ultron's sentries to know that anything involving robots was a bad idea. Especially when it came to Tony.

"Yeah. It's just me and Pepper now, and the rest of the design team." Annabeth gave a sigh, blowing out her cheeks. "What about you? Any progress on Querci?"

Percy shook his head, hiding his unease. "No, it's been pretty quiet the last few days. Maybe she's taking a vacation," he joked.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Please take her seriously, Percy. We don't know what else she has up her sleeve."

"I know, I know," Percy said. "Don't worry about it—I've got it all under control."

Annabeth surveyed him for a moment with that scrutinizing, piercing gaze of hers, and then she nodded. "Okay. Don't be a seaweed brain, Percy. I'll try to IM you tomorrow," she promised. "We need to find out more about this breach in the Underworld, and how we're going to catch all the loose sparti."

Percy agreed and the IM connection was severed.

 _I've got it all under control_.

He hoped that would be true before Annabeth came back at the end of next week.

* * *

 **Grover**

"Nobody will let me in!" Juniper said, her voice high in her distress. She cast another desperate look back at the forest—her former home. "Nobody will talk to me!"

Grover hugged the small elfin dryad, who buried her face in his neck as she began to cry again. Seeing his girlfriend so distraught only made him more frustrated with the rest of the nymphs. The majority of the wild spirits had spent their entire lives here—it was shocking to see how quickly they were all turning their backs.

The moment Juniper had shown hesitancy in joining Querci, her lifetime friends and family had shunned her, casting her out of the forest and denying her return.

It was as effective as a death sentence. Separated from her juniper bush, the very source of her life, the dryad would only last 2 or 3 weeks tops, slowly dying all the while.

"We're going to fix this," Grover said, swallowing down the fear that he had. The fear of the future—of Juniper's future. "And we're going to find a way to deal with Querci."

Once upon a time, Grover would never have even _thought_ such a thing against such a powerful figure as the oaken dryad. But seeing what Querci was doing to the nymphs, seeing as nearly all the trees fell silent, the lake went still, the cloud nymphs disappeared, and the strawberry fields became empty—it was like a physical illness had struck, making Grover hurt everywhere. He hated to see all of this conflict, and among friends and family no less. And all Querci did was say a few words; words so potent and compelling that they were as formidable as Piper's charmspeak in some respects. At the very least, the dryad had managed to unveil the deepest and rankest wounds that had festered in the relationship between the gods, their children, and the Wild for many years.

Grover himself had tried to remain neutral, recognizing that it was his duty as a friend to both wild spirits and demigods, and as a Cloven Elder, to maintain the peace. And what had he gotten? The Council had fallen apart, demigods were beginning to look at him as if wondering if he were a traitor, and dryads were shunning him just as they were with Juniper and a dozen other nymphs. Because not everyone had sided with Querci. There were still wild spirits who had chosen to remain silent, unwilling to take sides or fearing the consequences if they did. And it didn't matter, because their silence was found to be just as incriminating as outspoken opposition, and they too were being cast out of their homes by the majority—the still-growing faction of nymphs who had begun to preach Querci's words.

And it all made Grover's head hurt, because there was truth in the oaken dryad's words. She had made accusations, but they were well-founded by centuries of evidence.

But there was one thing that Grover was absolutely certain about.

The way Querci was going about to addressing the problem between wild spirits, demigods and gods? Pitting them all against one another?

It wasn't the right way.

* * *

 **Peter**

"Mr. Stark's not here?" Peter looked around, scratching his head.

 _"No, I apologize Mr. Parker."_ Friday responded, managing to sound apologetic.

"That's okay," Peter said absentmindedly, sighing a little. He'd come hoping to just chat with Mr. Stark and work on his suit, like they did every Sunday, but it appeared that the billionaire had left for Stark Industries HQ a little earlier than planned.

 _"But sir, there is someone else present."_

And as if to mark Friday's words, heavy booted footsteps began to clomp down the metal stairs to Peter's right.

Peter made a dash for the landing pad outside.

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy left Camp Half-Blood late in the evening, hoping that he could talk with a certain Asgardian.

He also needed to separate himself from the tense environment inside the Camp, if only for a few hours. It felt like everyone was at each other's throats, ready to lunge at the slightest provocation. This problem with Querci . . . well, it had become much bigger than a problem with Querci, really. Fingers pointed in each direction, accusations shouted at everyone; it appeared everyone was at fault one way or another. And Percy had gotten it all tangled up, and that wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst thing that had happened so far was that he'd lied to Annabeth. If she found out . . . well, she'd be absolutely furious, to say the least. So far, he'd managed to keep Nico quiet, but it wouldn't be hard for Annabeth to find out from another source. Hades, all she had to do was make a trip to Camp Jupiter, and then she'd be on a one-way ticket back to New York.

So Percy decided that it was about time they actually tried to fix this massive and still-growing conflict, starting with where it all began: the nymphs' beef with Thor.

And after that, he would need to speak to his father. Because the gods were just as at fault as the demigods were, at this point.

As he sat in the back of the cab that was taking him to Manhattan, the radio blared:

 _". . . week we'll be experiencing colder than normal temperatures, possibly even in the single digits by next month. Experts are warning that La Niña will be responsible for an early, powerful winter season . . ."_

And sure enough, by the time Percy exited the cab in the middle of bustling Manhattan, a cold wind had set in. Pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down to provide some meagre protection for his forearms, Percy immediately regretted not having thought to bring a jacket. It didn't feel like the end of July right now; it felt like October.

Sneaking into Stark Tower was easy enough now; with a discrete access card and name, the few reporters mingling around the entrance paid him no attention, and the lobbyist gave him a brief smile before sending him up to the penthouse.

He briefly wondered if he'd see Steve or Tony; if he were being truthful, he would admit that he was also making this visit to speak with them. Or just hang out. He wasn't sure yet.

It was a long shot, expecting to meet Thor in the Avengers Tower. But Percy didn't have much of a choice; it wasn't like he could call him up to meet him somewhere, and even then, where would they meet? Central Park? Percy didn't want a repeat of Tuesday. And Percy didn't want to risk some mortal seeing him speak to Thor, especially when the Asgardian's distinct appearance drew all eyes towards him like an attention magnet.

And bringing Thor to Camp in the midst of all the conflict . . . yup, that sounded like a bad idea altogether.

So Percy was hedging his bets on bumping into Thor at the Tower.

* * *

 **Thor**

Thor spent a good 15 minutes riffling through Stark's workshop, and was just about ready to break a few tables by the end of it. Glowing, holographic numbers and diagrams of the scepter, innumerable files typed in the smallest of fonts on fragile, glass screens—and to top it all off, Stark wasn't here to decipher any of it for him. Rather, he had decided to up and leave for some talk at an M-I-T. Whatever a mit was. And so now, it appeared as if the search for the Infinity Stone residing on Midgard had come to a screeching halt, if it had even started in the first place.

Stomping down the metal staircase to the lounge area, a whisper of movement caught Thor's attention. Eyes narrowed, he frowned in the direction of the landing pad, when the elevator _dinged!_

Perseus Jackson stepped out.

* * *

 **Percy**

"Percy," Thor greeted him, going to meet the demigod.

Percy looked in his direction, and relief flickered across his face. It appeared as if the demigod was happy to see him. "Thor. Uh, how are you?"

"I'm well," Thor responded politely in his faintly accented, tenor voice. "And you?"

"Good, thanks."

Both of them were well aware of the fact that they couldn't speak openly towards each other—not with the constant ear of Friday listening to every word.

"Where's Steve? And Tony?" Percy asked, looking around.

"Ah, Stark is talking at a mit." Thor said with a tinge of annoyance. "And Steve is out, busy with other matters." Like dealing with HYDRA. But Thor kept his mouth closed; Avengers business was not Percy's business.

"Oh." Clearly, the demigod was slightly disappointed. "And what are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to speak to Stark myself, actually," Thor admitted. "I had some matters to discuss with him." And that's when Thor had an idea. "Regarding some artifacts, actually."

Percy's interest was peaked by the way Thor vaguely hinted at a new topic. "Artifacts . . . ? That's more of Annabeth's thing than mine."

"They're called Infinity Stones. They are remnants of six singularities that existed before creation."

Percy scratched his head. "Yeah, like I said, artifacts really aren't my thing."

Thor ignored him, clearly in a story-telling mode. "Before creation, there existed six singularities: Mind, Space, Time, Reality, Power and Soul. Then the universe came into existence . . ." And on he went, telling the demigod about the six stones and the wealth of power stored within each of them. And more importantly, he told him of the galaxies far, far beyond.

"And one of them resides here, on Midgard."

Percy blinked in shock, straightening in his position on the couch. "What?"

Thor nodded. "That is why I have come to Midgard in the first place; I hope to find this stone before it falls into the wrong hands."

"Like whose?"

Thor's expression turned grim, and he cast his eyes out towards the city, seeming as if he were peering through the glass and steel to look into space and beyond. "I do not know. But mark my words, Perseus. Someone is searching for them."

Percy felt a chill go down his back. He hadn't felt this edgy since he had his asthmatic attack when faced with the rotten bird, but Thor's prophetic words were really getting to him. "What could they do with them?"

Thor turned his azure eyes towards the demigod. "Anything."

Percy fell back on the couch, his mind trying to process all of the information. Six stones—six weapons of immense, possibly limitless, power. The destructive potential of just one of them . . . Suddenly, Percy realized just how small he was in this massive universe. _Universe_. Because, gods, there wasn't just Earth, and Asgard, and the Nine Realms anymore. Suddenly, there were other galaxies inhabited by other races, other life forms . . . Gods of Olympus, Percy felt like his head was going to explode just from thinking about it.

So he did the smart thing and stopped thinking about it. This was how he dealt with massive problems—he did away with the complexities and distilled it to the basics. The really important things. "Why are you telling me this?"

Thor shrugged, his eyes flickering imperceptibly towards the ceiling. "You asked why I was here. I have told you. I came to search for the Stone, and I seek help. Help from Steve, Stark . . . and perhaps others."

Realization dawned on Percy's face. "Others." He repeated. "Like, say, maybe some people at the Empire State building."

Thor snorted. "Those people would never think to help me. They would be more likely to go in search of the Stones to take the power for themselves."

Percy nailed Thor with a hard glare.

"Or not," Thor shrugged, unconcerned. "But no. I think their children might prove to be more helpful. Or just one child in particular."

 _I'm nearly 18_ , Percy wanted to say. But he wisely kept his mouth shut. "Well, I think they're kind of busy at the moment with other stuff. And besides, how are they supposed to help you?"

"However they can," Thor said simply. "Stark appears to have entirely forgotten about the Stone for the time being, as has the rest of the team. I will welcome any form of help at the moment."

Right. That wasn't going to happen. Percy had far too much on his plate to help Thor in his search for this magic stone, not to mention that the majority of stuff on his plate had started because of Thor. And that reminded him . . .

"You remember all those people who you upset recently?" Percy asked, giving the Asgardian a meaningful glare.

Thor nodded warily, the change in subject putting him on guard.

"Yeah, well, they're a lot more upset now."

Thor gave a bark of laughter. "And what do you expect me to do? Apologize?"

"Yeah, among other things," Percy said, frowning at Thor's amusement.

"Perhaps later, after I have found the Infinity Stone." Thor shrugged. Clearly, he didn't care much for the state of the nymphs.

Percy stood up, slightly angry. "The least you could do is apologize and agree to stop killing them," he snapped. After everything he'd done, the Asgardian was just going to laugh it off?

Thor's eyes flashed. "They are trees, child." He rumbled, standing up as well and towering over the demigod. "I have more important things to do than bow before a sprite." And with that, the Asgardian stomped out of the room, angrier than before.

Percy balled his fists, resisting the urge to draw Riptide. Clearly, the talk he and Annabeth had had on Tuesday with Thor hadn't left a lasting mark. The Asgardian still considered nymphs to be powerless and insignificant.

Forget Thor; Percy didn't need him to solve his problems.

* * *

 **Peter**

Peter leaned back into a relaxed position (or as relaxed as he could get while hiding beneath the landing pad) as both Percy and Thor left the penthouse inside the Tower.

Why was it that as he learned more about Percy, he got more questions than answers? Like who were the people at the Empire State Building that Percy was hinting at, and why did it seem like Thor didn't like them very much? Because really, you could only harbour so much hate for an office worker.

And was Peter just imagining it, or did he hear Thor subtly ask Percy for help in his search for his magic stones.

And sprites? Were these the same things as the walking, gossiping, fighting tree girls that Peter had seen on Tuesday night?

Peter groaned. _Way_ too many questions. Percy's double life was starting to appear far more complicated than his own.

Peter's day only got more chaotic when he made his way back to the apartment, and spotted a familiar man loitering around the front of the building, clearly unconcerned about being mugged despite the fact that it was dark and well into the evening.

With a quick look around to make sure the street was empty, Peter webbed the man and bodily flung him into the nearest alleyway. Man, he'd been waiting since their Thursday meeting to do that.

"What are you doing here?" Peter asked boldly, keeping the stutter out of his voice. He was glad he had his spider-man suit on—it didn't hurt to have the boost of confidence.

"Hello to you, too," Fury said mildly, dusting himself off and examining the remnants of the webbing on his dark coat with interest.

"I said, _what are_ —"

"I heard what you said, kid," Fury cut across him, nailing him with a hard look that was unimpeded by his sunglasses.

"Then tell me!" Peter demanded, wincing inwardly. Despite trying to take a strong stance, even that sounded lame in his ears.

"Did you forget our agreement?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "I'm just checking up on you, seeing if you've made any progress."

Peter grinded his teeth, hating the fact that he was still under Fury's thumb. "It's not an agreement; you're blackmailing me."

It was made worse by the fact that not only could Peter tell no one about it; it was that he couldn't even tell Tony. Peter was well aware of the fact that Fury worked for the Avengers; just how much access he had to communications between team members and beyond was unknown to Peter, and he certainly didn't want to risk it. He'd tried Tony's secure number, the one that he gave only to his closest friends, but he didn't pick up. Either Tony was ignoring him, or he was in a really bad mood. So he was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Fury shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it, kid. But like I said, progress. Do you have any information on Percy Jackson?"

Peter froze, realizing that he was trapped. Either he gave something useful to Fury now, or he kept his mouth shut and gave into the possibility of Fury revealing his identity to the world. It didn't matter that he didn't want to spy for him; it was that he couldn't do anything about it, for the moment anyway.

And yet, had he really learned anything about Percy?

Yes.

He knew that Percy probably had powers—freaking, fantastic powers that involved complete mastery over water, if he were being truthful. And he and Thor shared some kind of weird, unique relationship. And Percy's girlfriend, Annabeth, seemed to be in the thick of it, as well. And, oh yeah, Central Park's trees were far more humanoid than possible. Peter knew all this, along with dozens of other little tidbits and facts. But he didn't know where it was all leading. He had a few puzzle pieces that belonged to a thousand-piece puzzle, and he was no Indiana Jones or Sherlock Holmes.

But which of these puzzle pieces were most insignificant? Because Peter sure as hell wasn't going to give up anything valuable to Fury and put Percy at his mercy.

Peter finally shrugged, trying to appear indifferent and once again glad that he was wearing his suit; it covered the panic and nervousness that was probably very apparent on his face. "I haven't really gotten any time to spy on him—you know, full-time student intern and all. I've only seen him once so far, actually."

"And?"

"And . . . he really likes his pen," Peter finished. He knew it sounded lame, but this time, he didn't care. Let Fury think what he wanted; he wasn't going to give up anymore information today. Besides, what was Fury going to do with this—try and steal the pen off Percy? For all Peter knew, his far-fetched imagination had led him to believe that the stationary utensil could turn into a sword.

Fury gave him a scrutinizing look, clearly aware of the fact that Peter knew far more than he was letting on.

Peter remained stubbornly silent.

Finally, Fury turned away. "I hope you have some better intel later in the week, for your sake. Until next time, Mr. Parker." And then the former spy turned the alleyway corner and was out of sight.

* * *

 **Taneleer Tivan (see Chapter 14 for a refreshing on Tivan)**

"Why has it taken so long? I expected the job to be finished today." Tivan said quietly. Perhaps with an edge of danger.

"The skeleton—it killed Marlin, sir," The mercenary speaking in the communication device's screen glanced behind himself for a moment, as if worried that he was next.

Marlin . . . ah, one of the other mercenaries. "What a pity. But why the delay?

"The security surrounding the artifact is far greater than we could have expected; Nova Corps has collaborated with outer worlds to ensure that it is never stolen. I've had to hire more mercs because your skeleton keeps killing them off. At this point, I'll run out of resources before we get your artifact."

"Hire as many thieves as you need; let me worry about funds. I want to have that artifact in my hands within the next Xandarian week, is that clear?"

"W-week? But sir . . ." The mercenary swallowed. A Xandarian week was equal to about two Terran weeks, for those who knew the many numerous time conversions off the top of their head. And "about two Terran weeks" to steal what was possibly the most tightly guarded object in Nova Corps' possession did not seem like sufficient time at all. But catching the cool look on Tivan's face, the mercenary snapped his mouth shut and said no more. For now, Tivan was simply impatient. He didn't want to push the Elder until he became angry.

There were stories about the anger of Taneleer Tivan.

"A week," Tivan repeated. "If I do not have my artifact by then . . ." He let the threat hang in the air.

The mercenary bobbed his head in obedience, and then Tivan terminated the communications link.

One more week, and then he'd have his beloved Power Stone back in his possession. Either that, or he'd have to hire some new help and get rid of the current mercenaries, which he hoped he would not have to resort to. He didn't want to get his hands dirty.

* * *

 **The Olympians**

"This has gone on for too long," Demeter said firmly, one eye on Zeus, and another cast down miles below, looking upon the growing faction of nymphs converging in Central Park. "If we continue to remain silent, it will only worsen."

Ares laughed, but no one else shared his mirth. "And what are they gonna do? Demand that we obey their requests? March on Olympus? Who cares—they can't do squat."

"Ares is correct," Zeus rumbled. "They are not our concern. If they dare to turn their backs on us, they are doing more harm to themselves.

"Indeed," Dionysus agreed, stretched out languidly in his throne, a terribly bored expression on his face. "But nevertheless, haven't these tiresome nymphs always been our concern, just like with the demigod brats?"

Poseidon's eyes narrowed, noticing the quiet tension lying beneath the wine god's words. Dionysus may have been the epitome of indifference, but the angry whisper of grape vines swaying ever so slightly around his throne betrayed his true thoughts. Standing up, Poseidon faced Zeus. "Brother, it is time to stop this nonsense. Let the concerns of the nymphs be addressed, and stop using Percy and Annabeth as pawns who may spy on the Asguardian for you. They don't deserve such treatment."

Zeus stood up, his eyes hardening. Next to him, in his tight grasp, the Master Bolt thrummed with energy. "That is not your decision to make."

Poseidon met Athena's eyes for the briefest of seconds. He knew what she was thinking: don't be stupid. For all they knew, Thor Odinson could indeed be up to something, and it would do well for them to find out what. But using this method? Using Percy as a spy without his even knowing? Poseidon didn't reach for his trident, not wishing to provoke Zeus. But all the same, he stood up, meeting his brother's glare. "We shall see."

And with that, the god of the seas disappeared in a violent spray of water.

"Well, that was productive," Dionysus commented lightly. He stood up, dusting himself off. "If you'll excuse me Father, I think I'll return to the camp. The demigod brats are probably running around headless right now."

Zeus barely gave him a glance, only stormed out of the throne room. Dionysis shrugged to himself, and then disappeared, leaving behind the sharp tang of crushed grapes.

The god of wine appeared at the edge of a silent forest, and placed a hand on the ground, ignoring the twigs and leaves that dirtied his skin.

Power rushed out in a silent concussion wave, blowing through the forest with a quiet whisper.

 _You are no longer restrained. No longer anchored to this forest. If you wish, leave. Leave. Leave._

 _Leave . . ._

The nymphs residing in Camp Half-Blood stirred, their trees and bushes shivering with raw energy.

* * *

 **Poseidon**

Poseidon appeared in his throne room in Atlantis, angry with himself.

He'd shown far too much favour for Percy already; this most recent clash with Zeus only tempted the Fates to cast some terrible curse upon his son as punishment for being so partial to him. It was difficult to stop himself, however. Percy was different. He had changed the gods within the span of a few years, while time had failed to change them for the past three millennia.

The demigod had brought them together in the most dire of times, but it appeared his existence was now driving them apart.

Poseidon gripped his trident tightly, and the world's oceans grew agitated in response to his growing anger with Zeus.

* * *

 **Steve**

The passengers of a private flight to Lagos experienced far more turbulence than expected. One might have said that the sea and sky were lashing out at one another, violent waves and wild winds trading blows in the beginnings of what might turn out to be a full-fledged war. If the seas and skies were alive, of course.

But Steve didn't mind. He took the lurches and sudden jolts in stride, while a green-faced Wanda tried to stomach the contents of her lunch. Natasha offered what comfort she could, which was far more than what she would have given to anybody else; she and Wanda shared a unique bond inspired by the fact that they were the only two women on the team. Sam spent his time checking over his gear and discussing tactics and strategy with the rest of the team. By the time they touched down in Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Wanda looked a little better and the team was ready to stop HYDRA in its latest operation.

The intel regarding Rumlow's whereabouts in Lagos had finally been authenticated this Sunday morning. Agent Hill had sent the report to Steve, who had swiftly assembled and briefed the team before they boarded the quinjet.

They had a couple ideas as to what Hydra was doing in Lagos. Weapons, intel, money to continue financing their operations . . . But everybody knew that Rumlow wasn't Steve's only concern. They were also looking for Bucky. But for reasons that Steve still had yet to entirely discern, nobody had backed out of the mission, or tried to stop him. Maybe they recognized that they needed to find Bucky. Maybe they recognized that _he_ needed to find Bucky. Either way, Steve was grateful. Rhodes was still at the military academy in New York with Secretary Ross, and Tony was off for some speech at MIT, so there was no one to try and stop him. Sure, Tony would hear about their mission afterwards, and Secretary Ross definitely would, but at the moment, Steve didn't care. Ross could threaten him all he wanted—he was still going to go after Bucky.

Vision had also stayed behind. The majority of the Avengers' missions that involved going out into the public resulted in Vision being forced to remain at the training facility; despite it having been a year since he was revealed to the world, the public had yet to take kindly to his appearance. He was too foreign looking—too alien looking. Unlike Wanda, he didn't have the luxury of enough human features to help soothe the fears that came from witnessing his strange and extraordinary powers.

So it was just the four of them.

But as he looked at each of them, Steve knew that the four of them were enough.

* * *

 **Alright, I gotta go - I have limited wifi access at the moment - so I will send out PM responses as soon as I can! Enjoy!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Guest (Oct. 14):** _Aw, oh well - I hope you can enjoy my story all the same :) But if not, thank you for the review-it was still awesome to read! I don't think I could ever manage the amount of commitment that a book calls for, but . . . well, we'll see what Life throws ;)_

 **Guest (Oct. 6):** _Yeah, so sorry about the delay—enjoy this newest chapter! And thank you :)_

 **Guest (Sept. 28): Will you maybe be able to add characters from the Kane chronicles. Only if you've . . .** _Yeah, I considered it in the beginning—I have read the books :) I'm just not invested enough in the series to know enough that I might be able to use the characters in a FF story. Also, I've got a lot of POVs going at the moment . . . I'll continue to consider it, however—perhaps in the future :)_

 **Guest (Sept. 28): Nico can sence death though so he would know if some one died . . .** _Thank you for pointing that out—complete mistake on my part!_

 **Guest/Banterlord400:** _Wow, thank you—your review means a lot. I truly hope you enjoy this newest chapter. And yes, definitely, I've been meaning to devote some Percy/Wanda conversation at some point or another—hopefully, it comes in soon._

 **Guest (Sept. 20): I love Bruce's personality so much! I can't wait to see what role he plays in all of this. Also it's really hard . . .** _Thanks! I love Bruce, too, he's kinda adorable in his own way, haha. That's great! If you can come to love or hate a character, than it means I did my job ;)_

 **Guest (Sept. 20): You're bringing spider man into this aren't you? X) SQUEEEEEEEEEE!** _Haha, yup, and seeing your awesome reaction, I'd say it was definitely worth it :D_

 **Guest/Giulia:** _Thanks! I try to make the effort of answering each review—it's the least I can do if someone makes the effort of giving a review :) Ohhh, I thought I read all of the PJO short stories, but perhaps not—I can't recall Percy ever using the mist. I'll have to search that one up—thanks for the heads up! And don't worry—Mrs. O'Leary and Blackjack will come in at one point or another—it wouldn't be a true PJO story without them ;) Let me hear all your suggestions! I love reading them, and although I can't guarantee that I'll use them, I can assure you that I'll consider them :)_

 **Achievement:** _Yeah, I know—you hit the nail right on the head. The chapters were going so good, and then it kinda just . . . splat. Poof. So in this chapter and the next, I'm trying to pick up the pace. Let me know how it turns out!_

 **Anonymous:** _Yeah, I never considered the relationship between dryads and demigods much before this, either, and then it just struck me! Thanks, hope you enjoy this chapter!_


	26. AN

Hello everyone,

Hope you're all having a good November. I'm posting this A/N to let you know that I haven't abandoned this story, and to apologize for not updating in the last . . . month, or so. It's a struggle to find the time to just sit down and write. I honestly don't know when my next update will come, except that it'll either be in November or December. Until then, best wishes to all :)

\- 100th Century

P.S. Anyone seen Doctor Strange yet? It ain't bad at all ;)

Responses to Guest Reviews:

 **Achievement** : Thanks! Haha, "salivating at the idea . . ." I'm really glad you're so invested in the story! The problem of the dryads isn't going anyway anytime soon - I can tell you that much ;) And with regards to the discovery of the demigod world - that's actually not going to happen for a relatively long time, so don't worry ;) And about Grover - well, that satyr is awesome. I also feel like, the majority of the time, he's just this normal satyr, but when it really matters, he pulls out all the stops. I hope I can find the perfect time for him to show his true power. And ditto, literature IS amazing - I worry that FF just isn't the place to put in all the literary techniques and meaningful plots (because, let's face it, everybody has a life and nobody combs through a story thinking about every word, myself included), but then you guys come along and surprise me. And Thor . . . he's definitely going to cause some trouble, intentional and otherwise ;)

 **Guest (Oct. 18):** Nah, he doesn't hate demigods that much, but he's kept up the pretense so long that it's just his nature to express his utter dislike for them. But maybe we'll get a glimpse into a softer side later on ;)

 **Guest (Oct. 24):** For sure ;) Humor doesn't often come naturally to me, but I'll do my best - you gotta love Percy's brand of humor ;)

 **McDonald:** Haha, yeah, I was laughing while I wrote that end scene . . .


	27. Civil War: Saviours or Slayers?

**Okay . . . so, long time no type. I apologize for that.**

 **But, I'm updating right before my deadline, and just in time for the New Year! 2017. Wow, time flies by.**

 **And this story has so many new readers! Hope you guys have been enjoying the story, and I want to thank ALL readers for their continual support and patience. This story wouldn't be here without you.**

 **SPOILER ALERT: There are actual scenes from Civil War coming into the story now, finally. I know, I've been saying that for, like, ever. But it's actually happening now. So if you haven't watched Civil War, and don't want it to be spoiled for you, do** **not** **read ahead.**

 **I won't be doing a play-by-play of Civil War. Instead, I'll be including scenes that I consider integral to the movie and this current story. And I won't be changing the plot of Civil War; I'm not trying to remake it to how I see fit, but I will provide in-depth narration, and I'll also be including/tweaking sentences so that they can fit with the current plot. But no major renovations.**

 **But please, read the Civil War narrations, even though you may have watched the movie. It's a good refresher, and like I said, I'll be including some small stuff that, if you miss it,** **you will not understand what's going on later in the story** **.**

 **In response to a couple of guest and fanfic reviews regarding Dr. Strange: I'm 99% sure that the doctor will eventually be making his grand entrance into this story. But it won't be for many chapters, unfortunately.**

 **In the case of those who waited patiently for 2+ months for the next chapter (again, sorry), here are some of the important bits and pieces you may have forgotten (through no fault but my own), but that are integral to this chapter (and the rest of the story, really):**

 ** _Percy went to the Avengers Tower and spoke to Thor, attempting to convince him to apologize to the nymphs. Thor, who also reveals the existence of the Infinity Stones during their discussion, refuses, and instead asks Percy to help him in his search for the Stones. Both Percy and Thor part ways, frustrated with one another._**

 ** _Loki forces Volstagg to swear on Valhalla that he will tell no one what he witnessed during Loki and Frey's meeting in Vanaheim, including that Loki is impersonating Odin and that Ragnarök is approaching._**

 ** _Querci has no taken a stance independent of that of the gods and demigods, and has asked her fellow nymphs to join her, claiming that the Wild has been mistreated for far too long._**

 ** _Percy neglects to tell Annabeth that the conflict with Querci is worsening._**

 ** _Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda are travelling to Lagos to stop Rumlow's newest operation, and to hopefully find Bucky._**

 ** _And of course, one last important tidbit: there was a bird apocalypse. Just FYI._**

* * *

 **Saviours or Slayers?**

 **Lagos, Nigeria**

They had tracked Rumlow to a police station in Lagos with the help of Maria Hill, who had remained behind at the Avengers facility to oversee the operation. Why Rumlow would attack a Nigerian police station, Steve wasn't sure. But he hoped to find out. Over the course of the last hour, the four Avengers had fallen into position, scattered between a café, an apartment, and a roof.

From the view of his apartment window, peering down on the street below between a pair of old, worn curtains, Steve placed a hand on the communications device in his ear. "Alright, what do you see?"

Sitting in the café below, preparing a cup of tea, Wanda glanced over her shoulder surreptitiously. "Standard beat cops, small station. Quiet street. It's a good target." She concluded. She wondered what Annabeth would say if she were here. Would she be impressed by Wanda's ability to scope out her surroundings, or quietly disturbed that she had developed the ability in the first place? After all, it wasn't every person who was trained to look at their environment like it was filled with dozens of threats just waiting to pounce.

"There's an ATM on the south corner, which means . . . ?"

"Cameras." Wanda correctly answered.

Steve continued his prodding, always the teacher. "Both cross streets are going one-way."

"So compromised escape routes." Wanda recited.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, and he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out." Steve said grimly. "See that range rover half way up the block?"

"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda took a sip of her tea. "It's cute."

"It's also bulletproof, which means private security." Natasha responded over the comms, just a few tables away from Wanda. The former spy was also sipping tea, though it really wasn't her drink of choice. "Which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody—probably us."

"You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?" Wanda said, unnecessarily.

"Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature." Natasha pointed out.

"Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?" Sam's voice came over the comms. The ex-paratrooper paced across the roof, his position giving him a bird's eye view of the entire street.

"Not to my face," Natasha responded mildly. "Why, did you hear something?"

"Eyes on target, folks." Steve cut through their banter. "This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. I don't want to lose him."

Sam laughed. "If he sees us coming, that won't be a problem. He kinda hates us."

Steve didn't respond, noticing a overladen garbage truck suddenly forcing its way through a crowd of taxis and people. Honking and shouting didn't seem to make the truck more empathetic, or aware of the fact that it had nearly run over a child. It simply continued to plow its way forward, crushing the rear bumper of a sedan in the process.

"Sam, see that red garbage truck?" Steve asked, continuing to watch the truck's progress. "Tag it."

Still standing on the roof, Sam deployed Redwing the drone and maneuvered it through the streets below, until it was flying beneath the belly of the truck.

"Give me x-ray," Sam stated as the drone's sensors continually uploaded new information onto a screen on the man's arm. Immediately, alarming data poured in. Sam's face turned grim. "Yeah, that truck's loaded for max weight. The driver's armed."

"It's a battering ram." Natasha guessed, starting to stand up.

"Go now," Steve ordered, running out of the apartment room.

Wanda put down her tea, not understanding. "Why?"

"He's not hitting the police."

* * *

By the time the team arrived at the Institute for Infectious Diseases down the intersecting street, the garbage truck had already reduced entrance security to rubbles and a flood of HYDRA operatives had entered the building with gas grenades, leaving the majority of staff unconscious or severely disorientated.

Having gained greater control over her flying capabilities over the last week, Wanda propelled herself over the concrete barriers after Sam and swiftly took out the rest of the HYDRA agents stationed outside—or at least those that Steve hadn't already dealt with.

"Rumlow's on the third floor," Sam said, informed by Redwing.

The captain looked to Wanda. "Alright. Just like we practiced."

Wanda nodded, launching Steve into the third floor with burst of red energy. Then she turned her attention to the gas, twisting her hands with a certain grace as more tendrils of writhing red energy enveloped the toxic clouds in the building. Behind her, Sam dealt with more HYDRA agents who had arrived on scene.

Finally, her face grimacing in concentration, Wanda pulled the entirety of the gas out of the building and into the open air, where it quickly dissipated.

But they were too late.

"Rumlow has a biological weapon," Steve said over the comms, urgency evident in his voice.

The ensuing chase that took place destroyed several dozen vendors as the Avengers tracked down the HYDRA operatives that had spread out through the city block, not knowing which possessed the weapon. It was a deadly game of cats and mice that stretched the limits of the four team members. With a temporary sardonic smile as she ran after two of the HYDRA operatives, Natasha wondered what would happen if they dropped Annabeth and Percy in the middle of this frenzied chase. The boy's fighting skills could come in handy, if he didn't get himself killed in the first minute. But no matter. In the end, the Avengers' small numbers overwhelmed the HYDRA agents, and they had the weapon safely secured.

But their encounter with HYDRA wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

With Rumlow all but in custody, his blows outmatched by Steve at every turn, the HYDRA operative spat out the one thing that could stop the captain cold in his tracks, even after he'd sunk Rumlow to his knees.

"You know, he knew you. Your pal, your buddy, your _Bucky_ ," Rumlow drew out the name, watching the captain's reaction closely.

Steve felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What did you say?"

"He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it." Rumlow seemed on the verge of laughing. "Till they put his brain back in the blender. He wanted you to know something." The HYDRA operative leaned his mutilated face closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "He said to me: please tell Rogers, when you gotta go, you gotta go." Rumlow's face twisted into a gruesome smile. "And you're comin' with me."

With a single, dreadful push of a button, the bomb wired beneath Rumlow's battle gear exploded. Too late, Steve lurched back. Only to watch as the HYDRA agent was suddenly engulfed in a sphere of raging flames.

Steve looked around wildly, and found his saviour just a few feet away.

Wanda.

The girl's face was contorted in severe concentration, her entire body shaking and her hands glowing intensely as she struggled to contain the massive amount of energy released by the bomb. Almost sunk to her knees, Wanda gave a hoarse shout and suddenly thrust her hands forward, hurling both Rumlow and his bomb straight into the air. The barely contained explosion rocketed away.

And into the side of a building.

The ball of energy imploded on impact, decimating three floor and destabilizing a dozen more in one deafening blast, sending a cascade of rubble down into the streets below. Chaos ensued in a tide of screams and shouts as crowds ran, reason and logic overridden in their frantic search for safety.

Wanda staggered back, shocked. She could not . . . no . . . this couldn't be happening. Cold-white shock settled into her blood and bones as she looked up at the carnage and devastation. Her whole body felt numb.

Next to her, Steve could barely breathe with the weight on his chest, constricting his lungs. "Oh my . . ." The captain fumbled with his comms device, and struggled to find the right words to say. "Sam . . . we need . . . fire and rescue, on the south side of the building." Finally mustering his legs into action, he ran towards the building. "You gotta get up there."

Unaware of anything but the plumes of fire and screams of terror, Wanda sank to her knees, gazing up with muted horror at the terrible destruction she had caused.

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy left the Avengers Tower, furious after his conversation with Thor. The Asgardian was still refusing to settle matters with Querci, and had instead turned around and asked _him_ to help with his search for these . . . 'Infinity Stones'. Thinking about it now, Percy wondered: if they were so powerful, why had no one heard of them before?

Percy shook his head. He couldn't believe Thor's arrogance and indifference. Clearly, if the Asgardian was unwilling to apologize to the nymphs, he still didn't respect them in the way Percy and Annabeth had discreetly implored him to do on Tuesday night.

Which left Percy with fewer and fewer options. Contacting the gods? Sure, when he was up for another round of eternal bickering among the Olympians and threats of being turned into a god's animal of choice. Other than that, he could go to Querci and try to placate her. But considering that she had tried to get them executed through the Council of Elders and now had a large, and still growing, following of nymphs from both Central Park and Camp Half-Blood, he had a feeling he'd only make the matter worse. Besides, Piper had tried to talk to her, and that just made the oaken nymph angrier.

His very last option was telling Annabeth.

And that wasn't going to happen. She was living out her dream in California—unless it was absolute necessary, Percy wasn't going to ruin that for her. They had fought as children of the gods for the last 5 years of their life—it was time at least one of them had a little bit of human normalcy. Because while Percy saw mostly demigod-related stuff in his future, like teaching sword-fighting classes and trying to establish some order in the pegasi stables, he saw some bits of human-related things, too. Largely, it was to do with his mom and Paul and being a part of their daily lives, which required him not getting killed.

Faced with these options, Percy recognized that he was at a fork in the road that had more than two paths and way more obstacles than a few wayward rocks and drawbridges. And just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse, he turned and saw Jason floating next to several posters advertising comics. Percy couldn't help but notice with a disgruntled twinge that the son of Jupiter still bore a certain likeness to the caped Superman. And even better, the demigod had glasses now. Just like Clark Kent.

"Hey, Percy." Jason greeted him with a rather terse smile as he stood in the frame of the IM. Clearly, something was bothering him. Behind him, the mid-day Californian sun was shining its rays across the camp.

"Jason, hey!" Percy said in mild surprise. His abrupt greeting turned several heads on the busy New York City sidewalk and he ducked into an empty alleyway before he caught anymore unwanted attention. "What's up, man? I thought you were going to IM us yesterday with an update."

Jason's tense face was broken momentarily by a slight roll of the eyes behind his Imperial Gold framed glasses. "I would have, if it weren't for all the donut stops Guido made on the way here. I got here on Friday evening, and yesterday was . . . busy." Jason finished, clearly hinting at something larger.

Percy grinned, ignorant to Jason's tense tone. "Did you guys stop by _Glazed_ in Colorado? Their Boston cremes are amazing!"

At the sound of that, Jason clutched his stomach and grimaced. "No more donuts. I'm so sick of them now." But seeing the affronted look Percy gave him, Jason relented. "Maybe on my trip back."

"You won't regret it." Percy's grin fell away. "But anyways, how are the eagles?"

Jason sighed. "Fine. We lost two, but the others are recuperating. It looks like our boundaries kept the worst of it at bay, otherwise we would have lost all of them, including the eaglets."

Percy nodded. The boundaries of Camp Jupiter were imbued with an old power that even the Hecate children didn't dare mess around with. And of course, Camp Half-Blood had its Golden Fleece, which kept monsters at bay, along with an abundance of other unknown powers and spells similar to Camp Jupiter's that warded away bad weather and made it the perfect safe haven for demigods. And now it seemed as if their boundaries were also capable of protecting them from disease—or their birds, at the very least. Otherwise the entire forest would have awoken on Tuesday with cries of shock and grief from the nymphs as they found dead and decaying avian bodies, just as the rest of the world had.

"Nico talked to his dad, but he doesn't think he had anything to do with this bird apocalypse." Percy sighed. "Or the rogue sparti, for that matter. We think there might be a breach in the Underworld, and that the sparti are from his father's own legions, though."

Jason's eyes widened slightly. "A breach? You don't think . . . ?"

Percy shook his head quickly, knowing what Jason was implying. Was it possible that Gaea was returning to wage a third Giant War? After all, the Second Giant War had been plagued with old, forgotten monsters who had risen from the darkest depths of Tartarus while Gaea's legions controlled the Doors of Death. "No, I don't think she's back. There haven't been any sightings of earthlings, and the ground hasn't tried to eat any of us . . . Nico doesn't know where the breach is, if there even is one, and he thinks his dad only found out when he asked him about it."

Jason nodded. "Let me know what he finds out. We haven't spotted any sparti since Wednesday, but if they really are from the Underworld, and from _his_ legions . . . well, it can't be anything good."

"I know. What about Rachel and Ella?" Percy continued. "How is it going with the Sybilline books?"

"It's going well," Jason supplied.

So basically, no progress, as it had been for the last year or so.

"But," Jason shifted in the frame of the IM, "that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." An almost grim look seemed to settle onto his face. "What's going on with the nymphs, Percy?"

Percy groaned. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.

"We heard that something went down with Querci, but that's it. Nearly all of the fauns have left for New York, and the Aurae are getting restless. Broken plates, whirlwinds of punch and nectar . . ." Jason shook his head, clearly frustrated. "And my father is angry for some reason; there have been thunderstorms for the last two days and he hasn't responded to any of my prayers. I talked to Renya and Frank—they want answers." Jason gave Percy a look, clearly expecting him to give some.

Percy wondered if he could terminate the IM and get away with a vague "I'm kind of busy right now" excuse. Because he _really_ didn't want to deal with the kind of judgement that Jason was inevitably going to serve him after he"d explained everything. Don't get him wrong; Percy valued Jason's opinions almost as much as he valued Annabeth's. But when he'd made decisions in Camp a year ago . . . well, he wasn't used to having a second, equally-respected voice providing alternative, (and, perhaps, sometimes better) solutions—with Annabeth being an exception, of course. But with Jason having moved into Camp Half-Blood with Piper, it was necessary for him to recognize that Jason was a senior demigod like himself, and possessed a degree of authority that would have rivalled his own, if not for the fact that Percy had grown up with the majority of demigods in camp. Not that that was bad. The shared power was fine with Percy. He wasn't the kind of person whose ego or pride blew up at the slightest challenge of authority.

He just wasn't in the mood to be told that the situation with the nymphs was going to Hades.

Percy sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "It was just a few disagreements, that's it." At Jason's raised eyebrow, Percy reluctantly continued. "You heard about Querci's beef with Thor, right? She thought that Annabeth and I took Thor's side . . . and, well, she tried to get us executed. Obviously, it didn't work," Percy said, thinking that Jason should look a little happier for his friends' continued existences. "After that, she apparently asked the gods to punish me and Annabeth, and to get rid of Thor. They didn't respond to her prayers, and now she's claiming that the gods have abandoned the Wild."

"'The gods have abandoned the Wild' . . ." Jason repeated slowly, as if he couldn't believe it. "Percy, you have to fix this."

Percy ground his teeth in frustration. "What do you think I've been doing the last few days? Piper tried talking to Querci, but she didn't want to listen. She's not considering any negotiations at the moment. Grover is trying to keep the nymphs in Camp, but he hasn't had any luck. They can't leave the camp because they can't leave their trees, but they refuse to speak to any of us. Even the naiads have stopped talking," Percy muttered, feeling betrayed. "And I just tried to talk to Thor again, but he won't apologize," he said, even more frustrated as he recalled their conversation once again. "That stuck-up, arrogant jerk."

"You talked to Thor again?" Jason asked, shaking his head. Like always, rather than making him appear juvenile, his glasses gave him a serious, uncompromising gaze. The look of an ex-praetor and Roman legionary. "Percy, that's exactly what started the problem in the first place. You need to stay away from him, and the rest of his friends."

Percy blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn in subject matter. "What?"

Jason's blue gaze hardened. "Thor, and the rest of the Avengers. You need to stay from them."

Percy crossed his arms, not liking where the conversation was going. "They're not involved in this. Don't include them—"

"'They're not involved'?" Jason repeated. "Percy, they are the reason this entire conflict started in the first place. Your friendship with Tony Stark led Thor to you—no wonder the gods aren't speaking to any of us!" Jason said, as if it suddenly all made sense. "A god from another planet, wandering around New York, speaking to demigods." The son of Jupiter shook his head. "My father must be beyond angry."

And the god clearly wasn't the only one in a bad mood. "For one, Thor is not a god." Percy almost snapped, conveniently forgetting to mention that there existed a treaty between the Olympians and Asgardians to keep their two worlds apart. He didn't want to give Jason more fodder. "And two, my father and Annabeth's mother gave us permission to go to the Avengers Tower!" Percy grit his teeth, trying to control his temper. "None of it has anything to do with the Avengers, and everything to do with how we've treated the Wild for past 3 centuries! The nymphs are angry with Thor and they—"

"They're angry with you, as well." Jason cut across him, giving him an almost accusatory look. "Your relations with Thor made the situation far worse than it should have been. If you hadn't spoken to him in the first place, then it would just be a matter of dealing with the Asgardian. We could have lent our support to the Wild, and the Aurae wouldn't be tearing through New Rome like harpies!" Jason seemed to nearly lose his temper at the last word, which was a feat for Percy, considering that the son of Jupiter rarely allowed others to infuriate him to such a degree. But of course, Percy had a talent for that sort of thing. Then Jason calmed and realized what he had said. "I didn't mean all harpies are like that. Ella is—"

"Yeah, I know," Percy said bluntly. He released a heavy breath, trying to shake off all of the pent-up anger. "Look, maybe . . . maybe we did have something to do with all of this," Percy waved his arms around vaguely. "But I'm not sitting on my hands, hoping for it to blow over. I'm trying to fix it."

Jason nodded, sighing. "I understand. I'll try to help as much as I can." His gaze wandered to the alley that was serving as Percy's background at the moment. "Is Annabeth with you right now? Did she go with you to talk to Thor?"

Percy swallowed. "No. She's in California right now—she accepted Tony's job offer. She'll be gone for two weeks."

Jason's jaw tightened ever so slightly, but the demigod didn't voice his disapproval. Instead he nodded. "But she's coming back, right? What does she think we should do next?"

The relief that came with Jason's "we" and his inherent support didn't make Percy's next words any easier to say. "No. She's . . . she's not coming back until next week." Percy reluctantly continued as Jason looked at him, confused. "I haven't told her what's happened since she left."

"You _what_?" Jason shook his head, disbelieving. "So she doesn't know—"

"She knows about Querci," Percy cut across him, unwilling to hear a repeat of the argument Nico had given him earlier in the day when he'd found out Percy was withholding information from Annabeth. "She just doesn't know that the nymphs are turning their backs on the gods."

"You haven't told her." Jason's hard gaze resurfaced. "Or you won't?"

Percy didn't back down. "You know how hard it is to have a life in the mortal world. She's wanted this her entire life—I'm not ruining it for her."

"It's already ruined." Jason said, with a tinge of regret for his friend. "Whether she comes back now or in two weeks, she'll learn about the conflict with Querci. It's better if she's told now, and then she can help—"

"What can she do that we can't?" Percy argued back, then grit his teeth. "On second thought, don't answer that. Look, just give her two weeks, Jason. Please."

. . .

Jason looked at his friend, silent for a moment.

That look on Percy's face—he was almost pleading with him. If Jason were a cold-hearted, evil villain, he could have made Percy get on his knees and beg. There wasn't much that the demigod wouldn't do for Annabeth.

But Annabeth was Jason's friend, as well. And if there was anything that Jason had learned about her during their short but rich history as friends, it was that she wasn't someone to be crossed. Jason was certain that she would remain the one and only demigod he'd ever know to hold an open grudge against the Queen of the Gods, and live to tell her many tales. It was also his obligation to her; she deserved to know.

But Jason recognized something else: this wasn't his choice to make. The son of Jupiter was acutely aware of his responsibilities and expectations, and in this situation, the duty of telling the truth wasn't his.

Jason gave Percy a look that that didn't bother to hide his disapproval and warned of the storm that the demigod has stirred up. "Two weeks, Percy. And then you tell her, or I will." Then he terminated the IM.

Jason wondered how greatly this would implode in all of their faces.

* * *

Percy had half a mind to return to the Avengers Tower in the hopes that he would bump into Tony or Clint. All he wanted to do right now was forget anything that had to do with nymphs or gods and have a good laugh. But going back meant he was running the risk of crossing paths with Thor again, and more importantly, it meant he was abandoning his duties as a demigod, if only for an hour or two.

Gods, he missed Annabeth.

Recognizing that he had to return to camp, Percy hailed a taxi for Long Island Sound. When he arrived, the first thing he saw was Grover cresting the hill on which the pine tree held the Golden Fleece, trailing behind a large group of dryads. He hurried towards them.

". . . wait, please, don't leave!" Grover was bleating frantically. "We can talk about—"

"Enough words have been said," one dryad snapped, whirling around. "The time for action is now."

The words echoed in Percy's ears, bearing a chilling resemblance to a certain oaken dryad. Querci had certainly riled the wild spirits up; he didn't think he'd seen so many nymphs angry as he had in the last few days.

"If you care so much for the Wild, Grover, if you were truly blessed by Lord Pan himself, then come with us." A particularly small but fierce spruce dryad said firmly. "Join Querci, and leave these traitorous demigods."

Standing before the tree nymphs, his long-outgrown rasta cap askew on his horns and his orange camp shirt full of holes created by angry branches and brambles, Grover looked ready to cry. "I can't . . ."

"Then you are no better than the gods or their children." The dryad responded, the matter settled. The group turned away, their faces filling with loathing and anger as they spotted Percy approaching, and then they crossed the magical boundaries of the camp and down the gentle slopes of the hill, travelling towards the heart of New York City.

. . .

"Hey man, you okay?" Percy asked as he reached Grover.

The satyr raised his head, his red-rimmed eyes and nose giving all the answers.

"What's going on? Where are they going?" Percy asked, watching as the dryads continued down the road, their slim figures becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second.

"Central Park, to join Querci," Grover wiped his eyes, throwing himself down onto the grass and pulling a tin can out of his pocket. Looking at it somberly, he took a bite and chewed dejectedly.

"But—" Percy shook his head, still confused. "How are they leaving? I thought the dryads couldn't be separated from their trees, otherwise they'd die!"

"I don't know, Percy," Grover heaved a shuddering sigh. "Maybe Querci found a way. I just know they're leaving. They're all leaving. Nearly all of them think I'm siding with the demigods because you're my best friend. Juniper won't even talk to me because she doesn't know if she'll stay in the camp or go with her 'fellow sisters and comrades'." Grover sniffed, then started crying again, throwing the half-eaten tin into the grass and burying his face in his hands. Resting in his pine tree nearby, Peleus the dragon tentatively sniffed the can before giving a disgusted snort, retracting his head.

"Whoa, hey man," Percy placed a firm hand on the satyr's shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

Grover lifted his head, looking at Percy like he was crazy. "'It's going to be okay'? 'It's going to be okay'? Percy, all the nymphs are leaving! _Leaving_! And nearly all the satyrs, too! That's not okay, Percy!" Grover cried, nearly hysterical.

"Grover," Percy started. When the satyr started sobbing again, Percy grabbed his shoulders and forced his friend to look him in the eye. "Grover, listen to me. It's going to be okay, I promise."

"They're my friends!" Grover whispered, tears streaming down his face. "But you're my friend, too. I don't know what to do!"

Listening to his best friend's torn voice, Percy couldn't help shedding a few tears. "I know, man. I know."

The two sat on the grassy grounds of the hill, not talking, the occasional sniff breaking the silence. Percy watched as demigods walked to and fro in the camp beneath him, going about their tasks. He wondered if things really would be okay, or if they had changed permanently. He wondered what Annabeth would do if she were here.

Eventually, the sun was casting its last rays into the evening. Percy slowly got up, holding out a hand to Grover. Grover looked at him silently, his eyes and nose pink from crying, and took his friend's hand, hauling himself onto his hooves.

"Have you talked to Chiron about this, yet?" Percy asked quietly.

Grover shook his head. "No."

"Then let's go." Percy started towards the Big House, Grover at his side.

"Wait," Grover said suddenly. He walked back, picked something up from the grass and started back towards Percy.

Percy watched as the satyr pocketed the half-eaten tin can, and smiled to himself as they headed for the Big House.

* * *

They found Chiron standing at his custom spot on the porch, and watching calmly as the pair approached him. It was almost as if he was expecting them.

"I know, dear boy. There's no need to explain," Chiron said, giving a gentle smile. "It appears the nymphs have found a way to leave their trees."

"But we don't know how. It shouldn't be possible," Percy shook his head, not understanding.

"Ah, but it is, nonetheless."

The three turned their heads towards the voice. Standing at the edge of the porch, dressed in a loud Hawaiian print shirt and shorts, an indifferent look on his face, was Dionysus.

"Mr. D," Chiron greeted the wine god. "Is there something you wish to tell us?"

The smile that played about the god's face was suspicious for Percy, to say the least.

"Nothing that the dryads cannot tell you themselves. They are free, finally."

"What did you do?" Percy asked. Or perhaps, demanded.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy," Dionysus' gaze swung towards the demigod, an insane, purple fire springing up in his eyes. Percy was rather acquainted with it, considering the number of times he'd angered the god. "What was necessary was done," he said in a quieter tone, giving a short glance towards the evening skies. Evidently, 'what was necessary' wasn't necessarily something Zeus approved of. Which spoke volumes, considering that the god rarely did anything to provoke his father's wrath.

"You cannot imagine the transformation the Wild has undergone over the past centuries." Dionysus continued, sniffing in disgust and looking out towards the forest. "And when Pan disappeared—pah! Satyrs running around like their horns had been cut off, pleading with me to find him." Dionysus' gaze swung towards Grover, who swallowed nervously. "But as you so famously told us when you returned from your adventures in the labyrinth: Lord Pan is dead. And as the conflict between demigods and nymphs grows larger, it appears that the boisterous dryad, Querci, I believe it is, is correct. The Wild has been forsaken by the gods. And seeing as Lord Pan is now on permanent leave, the responsibility falls on the shoulders of another to protect the Wild."

"You," Percy guessed.

Dionysus gave a humourless, indifferent smile. "What an intelligent inference, Johnson. Yes, indeed myself."

Percy regarded the god before him in a new light. Dionysus was in a dangerous mood. Besides the customary sarcasm and the trademark indifferent nature that cared not whether a dozen demigods suddenly dropped dead, there was a certain threatening tone that lay beneaththe god's voice. One that implied that the god had inexplicably chosen to side with the nymphs.

"Look more grateful, Mr. Underwood," Dionysus said, appraising Grover with a raised eyebrow. "Because of my actions, your nymph girlfriend won't die despite being separated from her bush. And worry not," the god continued. "I believe that will be my first and last act during this conflict. I can only interfere so greatly . . ." he muttered, casting another look towards the skies.

"What a relief," Percy muttered. Chiron gave him a warning glance.

Dionysus gave the demigod a hard look. "A final note, Percy Jackson. When the dryads prayed to us, asking that we to punish you and your girlfriend, I was in favour of responding to them. If only so I could watch you die in agony."

The manic light flared in the god's eyes, and then he disappeared, leaving behind the tang of early grapes.

* * *

Calling together an emergency meeting of the head counselors, it took a good half an hour to explain what was going on with the nymphs over high tensions and raised voices.

"Could he really have done this, though?" Piper asked. "I mean, releasing all the nymphs from their trees must require a lot of power." On her shoulder, Screech gave her wings a quick stretch. In Annabeth's absence, the bird had quickly taken a liking to the daughter of Aphrodite. In fact, it seemed that Screech was okay with pretty much everyone. Except Percy.

"Which a god possesses." Chiron responded quietly. The entire situation seemed to have aged the centaur by several decades. "And I imagine he only released those nymphs who are inhabiting the forest in Camp, not all nymphs across the globe. But it is serious nonetheless."

"They're abandoning their life sources," Grover said hoarsely, his eyes staring vacantly at the table. The satyr looked distraught; torn between two warring sides. "Something they've protected for decades."

"The wild spirits are truly angry," Chiron sighed. "And if the gods are beginning to become personally involved . . . it cannot end well."

Nobody said anything. For once, even Clarisse looked slightly troubled.

"Where's Annabeth when you need her?" Connor Stoll joked weakly.

"She's busy," Percy said quickly.

"Busy in California," Travis Stoll muttered. News had spread quickly that Tony Stark had offered the daughter of Athena a job in California. It was creating quite the stir in camp amid the conflict with Querci. Nobody bothered to mention that everyone also knew that Percy was lying to Annabeth. It had travelled through Camp Jupiter like wildfire after Jason spoke with Frank and Reyna, though the two praetors weren't sure how the legionaries had gotten ahold of the information, and then made its way to Camp Half-Blood via IMs between gossiping demigods. It had to be the biggest scandal of the year. Percy Jackson lying to Annabeth Chase?

Everyone was putting their bets down on the angry girlfriend.

The tense meeting didn't get very far; at this point, none of them were sure what could be done. Chiron promised another meeting tomorrow to discuss possible avenues of action, and told them to get some rest. But Percy remained. Waiting for everyone to leave, it was soon just him and Chiron standing on the patio, breathing in the warm night air.

"I haven't told Annabeth what's happened." Percy blurted finally, not looking at the centaur.

Chiron didn't say anything, nor did he move.

"She's in California now, and I said I'd take care of it. I just . . . I don't want to ruin her chance at this. She's wanted it for so long . . ." Percy could remember that one moment, so many years ago. Trying to make their way past the Sirens, and catching a glimpse of her deepest desire. Her family around her, Luke, still loyal and unscarred by his relations with Kronos, a glorious and grand skyline of Manhattan rising around them, built by her own hands. It was her fatal flaw, hubris. But at the same moment, it was Annabeth. Nothing could be done to change her fiery pride, her need to constantly build greater and stronger pillars, and attempt to fix what would remain forever broken. The picture had changed, Percy knew. Luke was only a ghost of a past, ideal future. But that skyline remained. The unassailable towers of beautiful architecture still ruled in her mind's eye.

And Percy couldn't take that away from her. Even if it was just two weeks.

Chiron turned, facing the demigod whom he had mentored for the last 6 years. "It's your choice, Percy." The centaur said, not unkindly. "But please remember, dear boy. We all have our flaws."

Percy knew what Chiron was silently reminding him.

 _Do not forget yours._

* * *

Percy decided to visit his mom the next day. He was tired of the tensions in camp, and he needed brief respite from seeing the empty strawberry fields and unnervingly quiet lake. It was Monday, so she was back from work in the early afternoon, while Paul was still teaching at school.

When his mom discovered Percy in the living room, she was ecstatic. Sally Jackson wasn't much of a cook, but a baker she was. A cake and a batch of blue chocolate chip cookies later, the two of them were sitting in the kitchen, Percy happily munching away. No matter how old he got, he would never tire of his mom's food.

And sitting in the new apartment that Sally and Paul had moved into together, they talked comfortably for several hours. Percy brought his mom up to date on everything that had happened at Camp in the last week, and finally brought up the news of his new friendship with Tony and Clint.

For a moment, Sally didn't say anything. She wrapped her hands around her glass of lemonade, quiet.

Finally, she said, "Well, I mean, friends are good. It wasn't what I expected when I thought about you making mortal friends, but . . . if Tony Stark and Clint Barton, who are both members of the Avengers I might mention, are good friends, then I have nothing to say."

"Except be careful," Percy sighed, giving a rueful smile. "I know, mom. Don't worry."

She always worried, though. They both knew that.

"Tony Stark isn't bad," his mom shrugged, finishing her lemonade and placing the glass in the sink. "At least, he isn't bad looking." She gave a wink.

Percy felt his jaw drop and his cheeks redden. "Mom!"

"But Captain America's cuter."

" _Mom!_ "

Sally laughed, placing a reassuring hand on Percy's shoulder. "I know, I know, Percy. Don't worry, honey. I love Paul very much."

Percy grumbled something. If Tony ever found out . . .

"And about Annabeth . . . well, I don't need to tell you to treat that girl right." His mom's face turned serious, and she gave Percy a stern look. "I can't imagine she'll be happy that you've kept this whole problem with the nymphs from her."

Percy sighed. "I know."

Sally gave his son a meaningful look, before going to the living room and turning on the television. A few moments later, after inhaling several more cookies, Percy heard his mom gasp.

Hurrying to the room, Percy skidded to a stop as he realized what had caused his mom to express such shock.

On the television, the remnants of a fiery explosion at the side of a building were being shown. And just a short distance away, a reporter was speaking frantically into a recorder, claiming the Avengers were responsible.

Percy could only stare and listen, disbelieving.

"By the gods." His mom looked at him, as if the television was reminding her that the people her son had befriended were also the ones capable of massive destruction.

Percy could only swallow and shrug his shoulder, giving a weak, hopefully reassuring, smile. "Well, I mean, I just met them. We're not really friends yet . . ."

"But Percy . . ." His mom could only look back at the screen, covering her mouth as she watched the chaos: police hurrying people to safety amid smoke and embers, and grim-faced paramedics loading stretchers into ambulances.

Percy swallowed. "I know."

* * *

 **Bruce Banner**

Bruce didn't know what he'd done to deserve so much bad luck. Life just seemed hellbent on serving him the worst of the worst dishes. First tricked into attempting to recreate the Super Soldier serum, and then ending up creating his anger-driven, primal alter-ego, the Hulk. Hopelessly in love with the daughter of the man who was intent on capturing him and using him for the military, he could do nothing but start running, and continue running for nearly half his life. Then he received an unwelcome visit from SHIELD, and was swept up in missions and relations with a group comprised of the strangest, most powerful individuals in the world. He made friends. He fell in love.

Only to leave again.

Natasha Romanoff . . . he didn't know when he started to fall for her. And he was even less sure on how it happened. It was hard enough to become friends with the likes of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers after so many years of isolation, but to think that he had a chance at a new life?

 _We could run away together . . ._

God, it was wild, crazy . . . and strangely romantic. They'd actually considered eloping. And it wasn't until the final battle against Ultron that he'd finally realized it.

They couldn't ever really settle down. While he would be entirely for a quiet life in an isolated (preferably empty) corner of the Earth, he knew Romanoff would never truly be satisfied. She said she wanted to finally have some peace and quiet, but that was just the side of her that was tired of the fighting. The other side of her could only be sated with action. Time and time again, the former spy put herself in the most dangerous of situations.

And when Bruce rescued Natasha from Ultron's captivity, ready to run off with her, she'd turned around and pushed him down a 200 feet deep well!

 _I need the other guy_ , she'd said.

And that's when Bruce realized that he'd never be able to have the life he wanted with Natasha. And so he'd left.

Only to be caught by someone else.

The metal door of the small, poorly lit room screeched opened, and a man walked in. He gave Bruce a smile filled with malevolent intentions. And rotten teeth, Bruce noted.

"Ah, doctor. Good morning."

Bruce didn't say anything, but remained sitting on the cold, hard ground. Above him loomed the old and faded symbol of HYDRA.

* * *

 **Yes, Dr. Banner is finally here! I know some of you guys have been waiting for him for many months.**

 **As always, constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome! How do you like the scenes from Civil War? Also, PMs and reviews will receive responses over the course of the next few hours.**

 **Love you guys, and Happy New Year!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Response to Reviews**

 **Guest (Dec. 28):**

 **Guest (Nov. 28): Hello! No worries about reviewing - I totally understand! :) I'm so glad you love the story, and I hope you find this chapter just as enjoyable!**

 **Guest (Nov. 26): I believe this is _Achievement_? Oh my goodness, I definitely didn't imply such a thing. I just find it awesome that readers can catch the nuances and themes integrated into the plot. But on the other hand . . . I don't really have a life either ;)**

 **500 (Guest; Nov. 20): Loved your review.**


	28. Civil War: Alliances and Accords

**Hello.**

 **Ahhhhhh! Hello y'all! It's been a long time since I updated, and I don't want to bore you with too many apologies and excuses.**

 **I finished my first year of college! It was fun and crazy, and not easy, but I don't regret any moment of it. I've been working on this story for the past month, trying to plan where it will go and how it will end. Honestly, I don't know how many people are reading this story anymore - I don't blame anyone for dropping it after so many absent months. And besides, is this story really that great? Or am I just in the middle of a quarter-life crisis?**

 **It's great to see so many new and old faces! Welcome, and I promise that I never intended to take so long to update. Since I'm still in search of a job (unemployment really sucks), updates should be coming every 1-2 weeks. Feel free to bug me and send annoying reviews and PMs; it will encourage me to stay on schedule ;)**

 **I WATCHED GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 2! Absolutely amazing, kinda freaky - James Gunn has my stamp of approval. The soundtrack has been stuck in my head for the last 48 hours. If you have watched it as well, please don't put spoilers in your reviews, in case others have not watched it yet, but feel free to send a PM if you want someone to share your amazement/joy/criticism of the movie! I can assure you that Baby Groot is absolutely adorable :)**

 **And I say this with complete sincerity: thank you all for being the heart and soul of this story - it would not exist if not for your constant criticism and support. Thank you thank you thank you.**

 **Hopefully I'm not forgetting to mention anything, please read and enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Alliances and Accords**

 _The metal door of the small, poorly lit room screeched opened, and a man walked in. He gave Bruce a smile filled with malevolent intentions. And rotten teeth, Bruce noted._

 _"Ah, doctor. Good morning."_

 _Bruce didn't say anything, but remained sitting on the cold, hard ground. Above him loomed the old and faded symbol of HYDRA._

Outside of the room, loud ringing suddenly shrilled, and Bruce Banner lifted his head sluggishly. One of the men standing guard outside pulled out a phone and answered it with harsh, tense phrases—a foreign language to Bruce, unfortunately. A robotic voice began speaking from the other end, just as it had since the beginning of his captivity. It appeared that HYDRA was taking every precaution to ensure the anonymity of its agents, including hiding the identity of its own operatives from one another by using phones that digitally modified voices for all conversations. After all, the less one knew, the less likely the group could be taken down through a single individual . . .

Bruce was only able to manage those few thoughts before the drug pumping through his veins pulled his eyelids closed again.

* * *

 **Annabeth**

Annabeth had only been at Stark Industries a few days, and yet, the amount of knowledge she had already accumulated was enough to make anybody's head spin. While she had come to LA to learn and apply her modern architecture learnings, she had unexpectedly taken on a number of other tasks as she shadowed Pepper Potts through her conferences and errands. After the success with Bruce Blaisley, Annabeth was given the job of interviewing potential candidates for two more administrative positions, and the opportunity to communicate with a team of designers in Osaka, Japan, where a Stark Industries subsidiary was located, and shadow them as they planned the next suite outlined in Project Retreat.

The team was working with a proposed budget of $650 million.

And finally, she was working alongside people who openly appreciated her work. Well, not Miss. Smith. The perpetually grimacing woman had called her Greek architecture 'archaic' and 'useless'. But - _besides_ Miss. Smith, it really was a dream come true. She was coordinating checkpoints with the Osaka team for construction into October and November, and Bruce proved that he was more than up for his duties as secretary as he scheduled and set up each of their video calls among his many other tasks.

"Jerry wanted to speak with you at noon to discuss some new building legislations," Bruce said, sitting behind his desk, across from Annabeth. He pulled up the e-mail and sent it to Annabeth's phone.

Annabeth grimaced at the ding of the received message. Despite the relatively low number of monsters roaming around since the war, Annabeth still didn't like carrying the phone around. When Tony had first given it to her, she'd gingerly held it in her palm, looking as if she were holding a grenade rather than one of the most advanced smartphones in the world. It didn't help that she was in California, monster central for demigods, and beyond the protection of any magical boundaries.

"I told him to e-mail me personally," Annabeth frowned, finally picking up the phone and reviewing the message. "Does he even realize that you're not my secretary?"

Bruce scratched his head with his usual nervous energy. "Um, I don't think so. He called me 'Secretary of Miss. Chase' in his last message. I'll send your private e-mail to him again."

"No, don't worry about that, I'll remind him tomorrow during the video call," Annabeth said, smiling in thanks. "Have you heard from your mom?"

Bruce's ears reddened. "Uh, yeah, yes I have. She's really happy, said she's proud of me."

Annabeth smiled. "That's great!"

Bruce had been afraid about how his mother would react to his employment by Stark Industries. Annabeth didn't see any reason for him to worry, but she had already quickly learned over the day that Bruce Blaisley was the kind of person that worried about everything. Paired with his lack of self-confidence and perpetually lost look, Annabeth found it almost frustrating to work with him at times. But she wasn't going to tell him that; he was good at his job (when it didn't involve face-to-face conversation), and hopefully by the end of her two week stay, he'd be more comfortable speaking to her and Pepper.

And besides, in some strange way, Bruce reminded Annabeth of Percy. They were both adorable dorks.

Annabeth checked her watch. "It's past 2 o'clock. Do you want to head out for a bite?"

"Yeah, sure, uh maybe after . . ." Bruce suddenly stuttered, staring at his screen. "Mr—Mr. Stark is calling."

"Oh, good, I wanted to speak to him about something," Annabeth went over to Bruce's side and accepted the video call on the screen.

"Hey, Annabeth and—oh, it's you again. Kid, shift over, will you?" Tony raised an eyebrow from beneath his red shades, and Bruce quickly backpedaled out of view.

Annabeth grabbed the arm of Bruce's chair and dragged him back, rolling her eyes. "Tony, Bruce has been fielding calls and conferences for you for the last day. He's also helping with technical services. Please be kind."

"Why do you sound like Pepper?" Tony muttered. He sniffed, eyeing Bruce. "'Technical services', huh?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Stark. I have a—I have a degree in computer science." Bruce swallowed. "A-and some experience in robotics, but that's just a hobby." His face reddened.

"Great, a kid after my own heart." Tony turned his attention back to Annabeth. "I just wanted to see how you were getting along. Having fun? How has Pepper been?"

Annabeth didn't need to be a genius to know that Tony was only invested in his last question. "Pepper is angry," she responded honestly. "I only have a gist of what happened, but I can tell you that you'd better stay away. As for my job, yes—I'm happy, thank you," Annabeth smiled. She decided to prod the figurative monster. "I, uh, heard about the incident in Nigeria."

Tony's face instantly blackened. "Yeah, well—no need for you to worry about that, kid. Leave it to me."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy." Annabeth winced inwardly. She had learned of the explosion this morning when she woke up, a scene of smoke and fire filling the screen of the television set up in her room. The taste in her mouth hadn't been pleasant—here were these people whom she had conversed with, joked with, _spent her birthday with_ , and now they were splashed across her screen as criminals, responsible for so many deaths.

And Wanda . . . By the gods, she couldn't imagine that the girl had intentionally destroyed that building. It looked more as if she'd lost control of her powers for the smallest of moments. Or maybe she'd just been consumed by the thought of getting the bomb as far away from Steve Rogers as possible. Annabeth didn't really know. She couldn't reconcile the friend she knew with the person responsible for so much destruction. It wasn't like in the demigod world, where all they killed were monsters and immortals. These were actual lives that had been taken away, forever lost to their friends and family.

Tony waved away her apology. "Don't worry about it. I gotta go—I'll talk to you later." And the video call ended.

Annabeth sighed. "Let's go get some food."

. . .

"He hates me," Bruce said miserably, staring at his food.

"No he doesn't," Annabeth said firmly. "He's like that with everyone."

"Except you," Bruce sniffed, rubbing his eyes.

"Even me," Annabeth lied, eating a strawberry. "Just give Tony some time—he's going through a rough patch at the moment with Pepper."

"He's not the only one," Bruce muttered, playing with his food. At Annabeth's questioning look, he reluctantly continued. "I, uh, I broke up with my girlfriend a month ago. Well, actually, she broke up with me. Couldn't deal with me anymore, apparently."

"Bruce—"

"Look at me." Bruce waved his hands, half-crazed. "A-a 26 year old guy, living alone in an apartment filled with his ex-girlfriend's stuff that she's going to come and take away eventually, graduated with a useless degree, who can't stop calling his mom everyday—"

" **Bruce**." Annabeth snapped, and he shut his mouth. Quietly, she handed him one of her strawberries. "Eat. And don't talk," she added when he looked about to open his mouth again.

Bruce looked at her nervously, before taking the strawberry and placing it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

"First of all, you shouldn't be embarrassed for calling your mom—you should cherish your parents."

"Parent," Bruce corrected her through the strawberry. "My mom divorced when I was young."

The glare Annabeth gave him was enough to shut his mouth again. "My parents separated, too, and I still love them both. Second of all, your degree isn't useless—your websites that you showed me this morning are amazing, and are clearly successful. Also, if your girlfriend couldn't deal with you anymore, then she's clearly not worth your time. Forget her and move on."

"I know, I know," Bruce groaned, his head in his hands. "I don't even know why I'm taking dating advice from you."

"Because I have a boyfriend." Annabeth ate yet another strawberry. _And I hope to IM him in a few minutes_ , she thought.

Bruce blinked in surprise. "You do? How long have you been dating?"

"Two years," Annabeth smiled. "But what I'm trying to say is—my advice is very valuable."

"Great. Even an 18 year old has more experience than me," Bruce said, miserable again.

Paying for the bill, Annabeth left Bruce at the table while she went to the restroom. There was a reason that she had gone off Stark Industries property to grab some food, beyond any prying eyes. Grabbing a spray bottle on her way in, she checked to make sure no one was inside before she IM'd Percy.

She couldn't help but smile when she saw the swath of black hair and sea-green eyes.

"Annabeth!" Percy's smile made it clear that he had missed her just as much. Behind him was the usual dirty New York alleyway that he had ducked into. "Uh, nice shoes."

Annabeth looked down at her feet, forgetting that she was wearing high heels. Pepper was a miracle worker. She rolled her eyes, looking back up at the demigod. "Not one word, Percy. I don't need to come back to Camp with all the Aphrodite girls gossiping."

"My mouth is sealed," Percy promised with a grin. "How's LA?" His face suddenly dropped. "Did you hear about what happened? With Steve and the rest of them?"

Annabeth grimaced. "Yeah."

"They wouldn't do that . . . right?" Percy looked as confused as she felt.

"I don't know," she sighed. "And if a hellhound or rogue cyclops isn't involved, then it's really not our problem."

"I know. I just—" Percy rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're right. Don't go looking for trouble."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "Percy Jackson, being proactive for once? I'm pleasantly surprised."

"And proud," Percy grinned.

"No, just surprised."

He didn't stop grinning.

"What's going on with Querci? Anything new?" Annabeth asked. That wiped the smirk off his face.

Percy scratched his head. "A few problems here and there. Nothing I can't take care of," he added, seeing the look on Annabeth's face. "You said you trusted me, remember? Let me deal with it."

"Yeah, you keep saying that," Annabeth muttered. "And I do trust you. Mostly."

Percy rolled his eyes.

"The job is good. I've actually got a few ideas I want to try out when I get back to Camp—I think they'll work out nicely with some of the new cabins. What are you doing in New York?" Annabeth asked as steps clunked up old, apartment steps, the sound wafting through the IM from Percy's side.

"Oh, I was just visiting the Avengers Tower. Thought I would drop by and say hi. Oh, and my mom wanted me to tell you that she was proud of you, and hoped you were having fun."

Annabeth smiled. She loved Sally—so many times, she had proven a more loving mother than Athena and her stepmother combined. "Tell her thanks. By the way, did you ever meet with that Peter Parker?"

"Peter? Oh, we played some ball on Saturday, and we're meeting next Saturday, too. Aw, Hades in a hellbasket—we forgot to trade numbers again. I don't know when to meet him."

"Sounds like a blind date."

Percy groaned. "He doesn't look up to me, Annabeth. And he's not obsessed with me."

"Whatever you say," Annabeth murmured, a light grin on her face. It didn't take much effort to have noticed that Peter was head over heels star struck with Percy, the morning they had bumped into each other.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and a shift of nervous feet. "Uh, Annabeth? S-sorry to bother you, but it's almost 3—our break is nearly over."

"Sorry, Bruce," Annabeth called over her shoulder. "I'm coming."

"Bruce? Who's Bruce?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Keep your voice down and don't sound so jealous, seaweed brain. He's just a coworker."

The tips of Percy's ears turned red.

"Anyways, I gotta go. Call tomorrow?"

Percy nodded, a grin back on his face. "Tomorrow," he promised. "Tell Bruce I said hi."

Annabeth shook her head. Boys and their insecurities. "I will. Bye."

"Bye, wise girl." There was a teasing wink, and then the IM ended.

Annabeth left the bathroom, and she and Bruce returned to headquarters.

* * *

 **Bruce Banner**

When Bruce Banner groggily woke up again, the HYDRA agent was no longer speaking on the phone, but the man who had entered was still standing over him. He must have passed out for only a few minutes . . . or maybe it was an hour?

HYDRA was relentless, Bruce had to admit. Even after he'd remained off the grid for more than a year, after the Avengers team and maybe even Natasha had probably stopped looking for him, HYDRA still managed to somehow find him.

They were still operating in the shadows, despite the pummeling that the Avengers (and often Bruce) had given them over the past several years, ever since SHIELD fell. But taking a look at the state of his current accommodations when he managed to raise his head off the floor: portable lamps and heaters, frozen rations, ice-cold water . . . well, it was clear that HYDRA was struggling. The golden days of the WWII-born organization was gone. Now they were just treading water, gasping for a few scrap breaths so that they could live yet another day.

If Bruce had his way, he'd be in the remotest regions of Europe. In fact, that's where he'd gotten nabbed. And they'd managed to subdue him with a single dose of a mystery drug.

One of his captors had held it right in front of his face. A concussion to the head made it hard not to look at the vial cross-eyed, especially when he was exhausted after hours of driving and being pulled and pushed around with a blindfold over his head, but Bruce had seen enough of the man's smile to know that it wasn't anything good.

"Transparency is a wonder," the HYDRA agent had murmured, looking at the drug. He had a faint accent, though Bruce couldn't quite identify it. It was overridden by the somewhat American tone that the man had adopted. "Did you know that when General Ross—well, Secretary now, quite the demotion, don't you think?—was chasing you, SHIELD was watching? They had access to all of his reports documenting his progress, the blueprints of the cannons developed by Tony Stark, the serum that eventually created the Abomination, but most importantly . . . notes detailing the development of a new drug. A drug that might let him, finally, catch the Hulk." The man's eyes glinted.

"We could never get our hands on those notes. Until your friend, Natasha Romanoff, released all of SHIELD's documents." He laughed. "Transparency, she claimed! She's certainly helped herself to a new life—but it appears you drew the short straw. With the notes, even despite the fact that they were encrypted, it was only a matter of time before we managed to develop this little beauty." He turned the vial, the orange contents magnifying his eye as he looked at Bruce. "We had intended to use this the next time HYDRA encountered the Hulk, but there was no need. You conveniently left the pack, a little lamb amid a world of wolves." If the man had spoken any more piteously, he would be crying.

But his sympathy was fake. Bruce had seen the manic look in his eyes, noted the sunken cheeks and baleful looks from the men around him.

At least, that's what he remembered. Or maybe they'd been fat with plenty of food and lounging in luxury. Bruce was having trouble recalling the details . . .

* * *

 **Percy**

 _"By the gods." His mom looked at him, as if the television was reminding her that the people her son had befriended were also the ones capable of massive destruction._

 _Percy could only swallow and shrug his shoulder, giving a weak, hopefully reassuring, smile. "Well, I mean, I just met them. We're not really friends yet . . ."_

 _"But Percy . . ." His mom could only look back at the screen, covering her mouth as she watched the chaos: police hurrying people to safety amid smoke and embers, and grim-faced paramedics loading stretchers into ambulances._

 _Percy swallowed. "I know."_

Percy was glad that Annabeth had called. Today had turned out to be a bad day.

Now he knew why Thor had been the only occupant in the Avengers Tower. The rest of the group been in Nigeria, out on their latest mission.

Seeing the horror on the television, Percy hadn't stayed at his mom's apartment for much longer. The people he had gotten to know over the last week didn't seem to be the same people on that screen before him, covered in soot and standing amid chaos. The two seemed at odds with one another.

And yet, he'd known this. _He knew this_. They were one and the same, and he of all people should have known that this was bound to happen. They'd made a mess of New York and Sokovia, along with a dozen other places—why should Nigeria be any surprise?

Percy shook his head. Before the Avengers, he had never felt the need to get involved in mortal affairs. If his mom was happy, then that was good enough. But then New York got trashed and an entire trail of destruction began to wind itself around the world, all in the wake of the Avengers. And what could he do? Nothing, Chiron had told him. It wasn't monsters, it wasn't gods; it was just a handful of powerful, enhanced individuals. There was nothing he could do to help. In fact, he'd probably do more harm than good if he got involved.

Percy groaned, shaking his head. This wasn't like him. He had to stop thinking, before his head exploded. Stepping to the edge of the sidewalk, he hailed a cab. When he got back to Camp in the afternoon, the news had already spread like wildfire and was already well-known. If the dark looks and whispers were any indication, it was clear that people were even more disapproving of his relations with the Avengers.

The fields and forest were the most silent Percy had ever heard; it appeared that nearly all the nymphs and satyrs had left. He found himself missing the sound of the reed pipes wafting through the camp, though he would never admit it aloud.

So it was a silver lining around a very gloomy cloud that, as he was making his way towards the pegasi stables, he heard a booming _WOOF!_

The next moment, he was tackled to the ground by a massive, dark shape.

"Hey, girl!" Percy laughed as Mrs. O'Leary the hellhound slobbered him from head to toe, as excited to see the demigod as he was to see her. "What are you doing here? I thought you were hanging out with Hannibal! Did you miss me?"

"WOOF!" She responded enthusiastically, nearly deafening him.

Percy finally managed to get the hellhound to sit back, her tail thumping happily against the ground as she animatedly watched him stand up and wipe some of the saliva off his face.

"Looking for a playmate?" Percy guessed, shaking himself.

Mrs. O'Leary panted, as if smiling.

"Sorry, girl, can't today," Percy said apologetically, patting her head. "Lots of stuff going on. All of the nymphs are leaving, and satyrs, too," he added, sighing.

The hellhound lowered herself to the ground, whining. Besides Percy, Mrs. O'Leary loved Grover, despite the fact that the satyr was terrified of her.

Percy nearly fell for the puppy eyes, but then remembered the head counselor meeting he had in a few minutes. "Sorry, I can't, girl. Go find Grover, I'm sure he's looking for a friend right now."

Grover would attack him with his reed pipes if he ever heard Percy saying those words.

"We gotta find a way to bring Hannibal here, don't we?" Percy sighed as Mrs. O'Leary gave a sad whine. Hannibal was one of Mrs. O'Leary's best friends, but unfortunately, the war elephant didn't have the hellhound's luxury of shadow travel.

Mrs. O'Leary gave Percy an experimental lick and cuff around his head with a massive paw, as if checking to see if he really wouldn't play with her. Then she dejectedly loped away, melting into the shadow cast by the Aphrodite cabin.

Rubbing the side of his head and hoping that he didn't have a concussion, Percy made his way to the Big House. Hopefully, they would figure out some way to negotiate with the wild spirits soon. Just as he stepped onto the old, creaking porch, he heard a massive bellow.

Ducking his head instinctively, Percy spun around to see . . .

Hannibal.

The Roman war elephant was charging out from the shadow of the hills, heading towards the Big House. Letting loose a booming bark, Mrs. O'Leary tackled him from the side. The two tussled, rolling by the cabins and nearly crushing a demigod in the process, happily snarling and trumpeting away.

Chiron trotted out of the Big House to see what the commotion was about, and after watching the hellhound and elephant effectively ravage one of Calypso's gardens, the centaur turned to Percy.

"You wouldn't know anything about this, would you, my boy?"

"I had nothing to do with this!" Percy said indignantly. Then he winced as Hannibal took out a side of the Demeter cabin, sending potted plants and well-manicured grass flying. "Okay, maybe a little."

. . .

Percy reluctantly IM'd Frank a few minutes later, with all of the head counselors sitting around the table in the Big House—along with Katie Gardner, who was giving Percy a murderous glare. There were still bits of ceramic and petals in her clothes and hair.

When the IM connected, Frank was in a pavilion, clearly anxious about something and in the midst of talking to Jason.

"Percy!" Frank broke away from his conversation, his hands fidgeting with an arrow as the son of Poseidon materialized before him.

"Hey, man," Percy gave a half-hearted wave. "Listen, there's something—"

"Per—" Frank's attention returned to another person calling his attention beyond the frame of the IM, before he turned back to Percy. "Look, now's really not the time—something happen—."

"Yeah, that's what I'm—"

"Frank, Reyna said to—"

Looking irritated as he was forced to talk to multiple demigods, Frank groaned. "Everybody, QUIET!" All the chatter suddenly stopped and the the praetor finally turned his full attention on Percy. "Look, Percy, I'm really sorry, but I have to go. Hannibal's gone missing."

"Yeah, I know!" Percy rolled his eyes, becoming just as frustrated. "That's what I wanted to tell you. He's here—and safe."

As if to confirm, a loud trumpet blasted from just outside, sending vibrations through the old floorboards of the Big House. Chiron patted a shaking wall, as if reassuring the building that it could withstand the exuberant elephant outside.

Upon hearing him, the group of demigods on the other end of the IM broke into shouts.

"You _took_ Hannibal?"

"Jackson took Hannibal!"

"The _Graceus_ stole our war elephant!"

A severe voice lashed out. "Lexa!"

All heads spun towards the direction of the voice, and Percy looked at the fringes of the IM for the newcomer, though he already knew who it was. There were few people between both the Roman and Greek camps that could make demigods look that apprehensive.

"If I ever hear you use that word again, you will be cleaning the armoury for the next month. Understood?" Renya stared hard at the Third Cohort centurion. Although she barely stood eye-to-eye with the exceptionally tall demigod, the Roman praetor still managed to clear a wide circle of respect among the group of senior officers.

Lexa swallowed, averting her eyes. "Yes."

Being stationed at the armoury was equivalent to being on Probatio. The promised shame and embarrassment was enough to bow any head.

With the tent finally quiet, Dakota stood up from a nearby bench. His hand wrapped firmly around several crushed packs of Kool-Aid, the demigod pointed a surprisingly steady finger at Percy. "Give Hannibal back."

"I didn't take him!" Percy said indignantly. "Mrs. O'Leary was just bored—she wanted a friend. She must have shadow travelled him here."

"That's okay," Frank said placatingly, significantly calmer compared to a few seconds before. "We thought it was something worse—like maybe the sparti got to him."

"There have been more sightings?" Percy guessed.

Frank took a glance behind him before looking back to Percy. "Well, that, and there's been a new development . . ." Someone walked into the view of the IM, a silver bracelet around her left wrist and a circlet shining beneath shorn black hair.

"Hey Kelp Head, how's it going?"

Percy couldn't help but give a small grin. "Been better."

The tired smile on Thalia Grace's face clearly said she agreed.

. . .

"Lady Artemis is angry, Percy." Thalia bit her lip worriedly, glancing around despite the fact that everyone had left from either side of the IM to give them some privacy. "Like _really_ angry. I've never seen her like this before."

"I probably have," Percy joked.

Thalia didn't laugh. "She tolerates you, Percy—she doesn't get angry at you. She never goes to the level that Zeus or Poseidon often do, throwing tantrums or giving some godly silent treatment."

 _No, she just gets that murderous glint in her eye_ , Percy thought, unwilling to voice the dangerous sentiment.

Nonetheless, Thalia glared at him, as if reading his mind. "I'm serious, Percy!"

"Okay, okay!" Percy was glad that this was an IM and he wasn't within punching range. "I'm listening."

Thalia rolled her eyes, before her face became somber again. "Phoebe says the last time Artemis was this angry at anyone, let alone Zeus, she slaughtered 7 girls because their mother insulted Leto."

"What a fair punishment," Percy muttered. He hated hearing about these stories; the worst of them being Poseidon's. Nobody wanted a cold-blooded murderer for a parent.

Thalia gave him a warning look, before she continued. "After Apollo disappeared at the end of the war, Artemis stopped talking to Zeus. She's no longer obeying his summons, nor is she attending council meetings." Thalia bit her lip. "Out of all of the gods, Artemis could always be trusted to soothe Zeus' temper. Hera holds too many grudges, Hades and Poseidon only create more feuds, even Demeter can test his patience . . ." Thalia trailed off, thinking of all the times she had been recommended cereal. "But Artemis was always there."

"And now she's not," Percy continued, beginning to understand.

"Exactly. All this talk about the minor gods wanting seats on the council . . . Zeus isn't happy. And Artemis isn't there to watch over. We've been hunting monsters still running rampant from the war, and since last week, we've been trying to figure out what was behind all these dead birds. We were so occupied with trying to find answers that it wasn't until we entered Washington that Artemis noticed this horrible stench of death."

Percy suddenly realized where this was going. "The sparti," he guessed.

Thalia nodded. "It's not natural. None of it is—the birds or the sparti. Who could cause so much death, and where are all these skeletons coming from? Frank told me about the possible breach in the Underworld . . ." The hunter shook her head, looking grim. "Both of them were orchestrated, and we don't even know if they're linked. Everyday, there's more questions than answers."

Percy empathized. "Has Artemis mentioned anything about the nymphs?"

Thalia's face darkened. "You're on your own."

Percy blinked, taken aback by the cold tone that his friend had suddenly adopted. "Huh?"

"Exactly what I said. Those are the words Artemis has for both camps. Don't expect any help from us."

Percy shook his head, utterly confused. "What in Hades' name is that supposed to mean?"

Thalia looked at him with a grim face. "I'm sorry, Percy, but I have my orders. Your feud is between the camps and the nymphs; the Hunters of Artemis will not interfere. Artemis wants nothing to do with anything besides the Hunt, at the moment." She finished quietly.

Percy couldn't believe his ears. "Are you serious? Out of all of them, Artemis should be the one smack dab in the middle of all this! Doesn't she want the best for the nymphs? Is she just going to ignore everything and let us tear ourselves apart?"

"Don't exaggerate it, Percy." Thalia's face hardened. "If you approach the situation properly, there will be no bloodshed. Listen to what the wild spirits have to say. What they're asking for isn't crazy or illogical. You would ask for the same thing in their position."

"Great to know which side you're on," Percy snorted.

"There are no sides, Percy!" Thalia snapped angrily. "Can't you close that stupid mouth of yours and listen for once?"

Percy's eyes flashed. "Like you ever stop running your mouth?"

Thalia growled. "Percy—"

"All I hear is "Lady Artemis this", "Lady Artemis that". I get that you're the lieutenant and all, but did you forget where you came from?" Percy snapped. "You sacrificed your life for this camp right on that hill over there! Your best friend lives here and so does your brother! And now you're going to abandon us right when we need you, just because you're a Hunter and Artemis ordered you not to 'interfere'?"

Thalia balled her fists, sparks arcing between her black spikes of hair. "I won't disobey Artemis just because you can't negotiate with a nymph!" The demigod took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Like I said before, you're on your own."

In the gap of silence that stretched out between them, raised voices from outside began to waft into the Big House.

Percy heard the distinct, high-toned pitch of a nymph and . . . was that Grover?

…

"Come with me, come with me to Central Park," Juniper said quietly, her pleading green eyes looking hopefully at her boyfriend.

Grover shook his head, feeling torn in pieces. Only a few moments ago, he'd been standing outside of the Big House, about to go inside and join Percy's conversation with Thalia. And now it felt like everything was slowing down, screeching towards some doomed and inevitable explosion. "I can't—everybody's here. I can't leave them." He took Juniper's hand, trying to help her understand. "We can't leave them."

"'Everybody'?" Juniper pulled her hand out of his. "There's nobody here—you heard Querci, they all left us years ago. It's our turn to leave them!" She cried, her voice continuing to climb in octaves as she became more distressed.

The words that the dryad was saying echoed in Grover's sensitive ears, possessing a scary likeness to the dryad who had stormed into Camp Half-Blood only a few days ago. "These are our friends, Juniper!" Grover shook his head. "Percy, Annabeth, Chiron."

"And they're our family!" Juniper cried, waving to the quiet trees that stood all around them. "You're going to leave all of us for them?"

"What-what—" Grover tried not to cry, hating the words that were coming out of Juniper's mouth. When did "we" become "us" and "them"? When did they all start turning on one another? "I'm not choosing a side, Juniper—I just don't think that Querci's way is the right way. Can't you see what she's doing? She's-she's pitting us against each other!"

Juniper sniffed, green-tinged tears forming at the corner of her eyes. "No, you're choosing a side—you're choosing them," she pointed an accusing finger in the direction of the cabins. "You're choosing them over me!"

"No, I'm not ch—"

"Then come with me!" Juniper stomped her slender foot in frustration, clearly just as upset with Grover as he was with her. "Come with me, please!"

Grover was near tears of his own now. "Juniper—"

"Please!" Juniper cried.

Grover gave a desolate shake of his head, not even bothering to wipe away the tears on his face. If he chose Querci, then he would be choosing to rip apart the camp. He would be saying yes to the Wild community turning its back on the gods—a terrible move that would hurt both demigods and wild spirits alike. It seemed that more and more individuals were losing sight of the fact that, no matter how much they may detest one another, they needed one another. They had lived this long in the mortal world because they had relied on one another. And to help tear it all apart . . . Grover couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Grover said, his throat thick with regret. "I can't."

Juniper looked like she wanted to drop to her knees and wail, right then and there. But with a difficult swallow, a sniff, and a swipe of a tear, she turned around and ran into the silent forest, the trees reclaiming another one of their own.

Having watched the entire confrontation, Travis Stoll could only manage an awkward pat on the satyr's slumped shoulders. "It's okay, man. Plenty of nymphs out there."

Katie swatted the son of Hermes across the back of the head.

. . .

The fight outside suddenly ended, and a tense silence stretched out between the two demigods conversing through the IM.

"'We're on our own?' Tell that to Grover," Percy said quietly.

Thalia didn't react for a moment, her face closed. Finally, she said, "Look, Percy, I—"

"Still think 'there are no sides'?" He scoffed.

" _Jackson_ —"

Percy slashed his hand through his friend's face, ending the IM. The son of Poseidon glared angrily at the table, already beginning to regret his words.

"Is it safe to come in yet?" Travis poked his head into the room, rubbing at the bruise that was quickly swelling at the base of his skull.

"Always hate it when the parents argue," Connor sighed, slipping into the first chair within reach. "Maybe you guys should ask Will to give you some couple's therapy."

"This isn't a joke, Stoll," Katie gave the two brothers a hard glare.

"We have a serious matter on our hands," Chiron agreed, wheeling into the room. "Your conversation with Thalia was less than fruitful, my boy."

"Saying that we're on different sides holds a lot of dangerous implications," Malcolm added.

"We're _not_ on different sides," someone sniffed. Grover trotted in, looking the most distraught anyone had ever seen him. "And anyone who says otherwise is **wrong**." The look he gave Percy was clearly one of betrayal, having just heard his best friend put wild spirits and demigods on opposing sides.

Percy sighed. Yup, the regret was starting to sink in. He knew Thalia was right—there shouldn't be any sides. Demigods and nymphs had fought together, eaten alongside one another, even spent their lives together, for centuries. But irrationality and frustration tended to interfere with judgement whenever Thalia was involved. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing—they _always_ fought. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to say that." He looked at Grover, hoping he would understand.

The satyr sniffed, wiping tears from his eyes, and then gave a small nod. He understood.

"I think I know a way to solve this." Percy continued.

"Feel free to enlighten us," Lou Ellen prompted, eyebrow raised.

"I could also speak to my father," Pollux offered, breaking into the conversation. He didn't look too happy about it, however. "Maybe he'll listen to reason, and reverse what he did with the nymphs' trees."

Nobody responded for a moment. Dionysus, the god of madness and insanity, listening to reason? Even Chiron didn't look convinced.

"My boy, Mr. D may not take kindly to advice at the moment. It is clear that he is beginning to absorb some of Lord Pan's old duties, and has likely put himself on ill terms with his own father. Why he has done so . . ." Chiron shook his head. "He has always shared a special connection with the wild spirits, beyond chasing after the occasional dryad."

Pollux nodded. "He was raised by nymphs, and there are a few dryads in Washington and Arizona who are my half-sisters," he said, matter-of-factly.

Meanwhile, the plan was coming together in Percy's mind. It was a big risk, but hey—it was about time it happened, wasn't it? He remembered that night just a few days ago, the night they first bumped into Thor. Had they not shaken hands, promised to begin a new relationship between Asgardians and Olympians that was built on trust and friendship? Now was the time to test the theory out and see if it really was possible for their two domains to coexist.

By the gods, why was he sounding more and more like Annabeth?

"I just need to meet with someone, and I'll get back to you," Percy said quickly, and dashed out of the Big House.

"This meeting was unproductive," Malcolm sighed.

"You think Percy's going a little, you know, loopy?" Travis asked his brother in a loud whisper.

"Annabeth is gone," Connor nodded, following his meaning.

"Imagine if he invited his new Avenger friends to help."

"Oh man, we could borrow that Ant-Man tech."

The look on Chiron's face clearly showed his disapproval.

"Who destroyed my garden, _again_?"

Calypso stomped into the Big House, her hands full of shredded moonlace and Hera's clover. There was a certain manic look in her eyes.

"Percy." Travis spoke up, looking solemn on her behalf.

"He was heading towards the beach, last we saw him," Connor said helpfully, looking equally somber.

Calypso stomped out of the Big House, giving a growl.

"Gods rest his soul." Travis snickered.

. . .

Percy went out to the beach for three straight nights before he finally got what he wanted. The first night was half spent coaxing Mrs. O'Leary to bring Hannibal back to Camp Jupiter and placating a rather angry Calypso. The second was a bust, and would have been utterly boring if a pod of hippocampi didn't show up early on. Then, on the third night, only half an hour after calling his name, Percy watched as a streak of gold crossed the sky, heading in his direction.

The man landed in the moonlit water with an unusually quiet splash, eyeing the demigod cautiously as he straightened.

"I thought your little war tents would have better protection than this." He surveyed the spread of forest and hills before him, unable to see anything beyond the borders.

Percy rolled his eyes. This was what he had to deal with after waiting three nights? "First of all, it's called Camp Half-Blood, and it's not for war. Second of all, we are protected. We're standing just beyond the magical boundaries."

Thor grunted, unimpressed. "What do you want?"

"I thought we got off on the wrong foot, back in the Tower. I still think we can move past the treaty and be allies."

"What do your gods think?"

"We're not the pawns that you think we are," Percy crossed his arms, unwilling to consider whether or not he really believed what he was saying. "We have our own lives. Our own stuff to worry about. Like the nymphs. You help us mend our relationship with the wild spirits, and we'll help you find your magic stones."

Thor was silent for a moment, contemplating. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because you would be on your ass right now if this was a trap." As if to quietly prove his point, the shallow waters lapped higher at his knees, as if challenging him.

Thor gave a bark of laughter, sounding genuinely humoured. "I am the wielder of storms, demigod. You would not survive in a fight against me."

Percy decided not to point out that he was also a 'wielder of storms'. "Are you going to help or not?"

Thor regarded him with hard blue eyes, then nodded. "Very well, Perseus Jackson."

* * *

. . . "Percy." Chiron trotted towards them slowly, coming to a standstill by the demigod's side. His tail swished with a hidden anxiety. The partial moon was hidden behind thick clouds now, casting only a weak haze onto the three individuals at the beach. "Why have you let him into our camp?"

The son of Poseidon noticed the bow held loosely in the centaur's hand and the feathers of a dozen arrows poking over his shoulder. He hoped there wasn't a dozen demigods hiding in the forest, waiting to charge. It would not be a good start to their alliance. "Chiron, this is Thor Odinson. From Asg—."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that." Chiron interrupted him, almost snapped. If Percy had been a stranger, he would've thought that the centaur was angry. But Chiron didn't get angry. Frustrated, sure—the Stoll brothers had tested his patience more than a few times—but never angry. "You and Annabeth may have become friends with him, but he does not belong here."

"He wants to help us fix our relationship with the nymphs." Percy insisted, ignoring Thor's raised eyebrow at his choice of words. 'Want' was not exactly accurate, but at the moment, hopefully it would be enough to ease Chiron's worries. "Thor, this is Chiron, my mentor and activities director at Camp Half-Blood."

Thor appraised the teacher from head to hooves, not batting an eye. "If you did not reside on Midgard, I would ask if you were a spawn of Sleipnir. Odin's eight-legged steed," he added, as if that would make more sense.

Chiron was not impressed. "Regardless of my parentage, I was training heroes long before Frigga nursed you. Have respect for your elders, Asgardian."

For a moment, Percy was afraid that Thor would bring out his hammer.

However, after a moment of silence, the warrior bowed his head in respect. "Excuse my manners, Chiron. I do not mean to intrude upon your . . . camp. Only bring good fortune. I recognize that I am partly to blame for your current conflict with the elfin spri—uh, nymphs," Thor corrected. "I only wish to help." The Asgardian paused for a moment. "You knew my mother?"

"It was an honor to meet her when she and Odin visited Olympus to ratify the treaty." The centaur still didn't put away his bow. "I find it difficult to believe you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

"Well, Percy has, in return, offered his help—and whatever help your camp can provide—in my search for a certain relic residing in your world."

Chiron sighed. "Of course." Slinging his bow across his chest, the centaur dipped his head towards the Asgardian. "While your offer of help is welcome, Thor Odinson, your presence may not receive as much warmth. I cannot say whether or not the gods are willing to move beyond the treaty between our two worlds. But come along, both of you," the centaur turned around and began trotting towards the Big House. "You have already crossed our boundaries—I cannot reverse tonight's events."

Percy winced at the underlying disapproval, knowing that Chiron's last sentence was aimed at him.

Hearing the flap of wizened wings in the distance, Percy fell in step with the centaur. He didn't want to test the patience of the curfew harpies.

. . .

Percy hoped that the midnight head counsellor meeting he and Chiron called that night would go over smoothly. It turned out quite the opposite.

First, it took a great deal of effort to wake the required demigods, and a monumental effort to convince them to attend. Recognizing that inviting the Hypnos head councillor would effectively cancel the meeting, Percy skipped the perpetually snore-filled cabin, but made sure to have Riptide ready when he woke Clarisse, knocking on the window just above her bed. The daughter of Ares took the midnight wake-up surprisingly well, but upon entering the Big House and noticing their visitor, became much more of her usual self.

As yawning, sleepy-eyed head councillors slowly filed into the Big House, Clarisse sized up the huge Asgardian warrior.

"Who's the newbie? And don't tell me he's a demigod."

Percy rolled his eyes. "He's not. This is—"

"Let me guess," Clarisse cut him off, almost seeming to glare at the Asgardian now. "One of your Avenger friends? Self-consumed, but not enough rich enough to be Tony Stark. No spandex, so not that stupid captain. Dressed in battle armour in the middle of the night like an idiot." Nobody bothered to point that Clarisse had once fallen asleep wearing chainmail. "Must be Thor."

"And who are you to insult me, unarmed and defenceless child?" Thor bore down on the demigod, but found that he was only one or two inches taller than her.

Unintimidated, Clarisse met his glare head on, pulling out a hidden dagger. "Someone who's about to teach you a less—"

"Whoa, hey Clarisse, he's a friend!" Knowing that he was risking his fingers, Percy grabbed the demigod's arm and pushed it down, pointing the dagger away from Thor.

Clarisse turned her glare on him before she grunted, stabbing the blade into the ping pong table and adding yet another nick in the wood that had endured years of abuse. Turning back towards Thor, she finally said, "Nice hammer."

Thor dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

And like that, the two reached some strange mutual respect.

"Why do you fight with a hammer?" Travis asked, curious and finally awake enough to speak.

"Yeah, why not with a sword? It's way easier," Connor added.

"This is not an ordinary hammer," Thor frowned at them, as if offended. "This is Mjölnir."

Travis nodded, acting like he understood the gravity of Thor's words. "Riiight. Mind if we take a look? Normal procedure for visitors bringing in weapons, you know."

At the other end of the ping pong table, Chiron sighed quietly, knowing what was coming.

"Yeah, just safety regulations. Bringing medieval stuff into Greek camps," Connor added.

Noting the mischievous twinkle in the eyes of the two demigods, Thor nonetheless waved his hand in consent. "Of course, be my guests."

Admiring the strange engravings in the metal, Travis wrapped a hand around the leather-bound handle—and quickly discovered that he could not lift the weapon. "What in the name of Hermes . . . ?"

"Dude, it's a hammer," Connor snorted, when he realized that his brother was having trouble.

Watching with a bemused smile, Thor decided to put the demigod out of his misery. "As I told you before, Mjolnir is special. It can only be wielded by those whom it considers worthy."

"No wonder you can't pick it up," Connor rolled his eyes, elbowing his brother out of the way.

"Hey!"

Taking the handle in his hand, Connor pulled. But the hammer didn't budge. Bickering and cussing, the brothers tried to lift it together. And were unsuccessful.

Finally, Connor stepped back, looking unconvinced. "So the _hammer_ decides who's worthy?"

"That's a biased hammer," Travis concluded, looking peeved.

"It's also a blacksmith disaster," Leo broke in, admiring the hammer from across the table. He was in his pajamas, but they were dirtied with grease and metal shavings. "Great for cracking open some monster skulls, but top-heavy. The handle is way too short."

Thor shrugged, picking up the hammer and giving it an easy flip. "Speak for yourself, demigod. We Asgardians have fathered some of the finest craftsmen in the Nine Worlds."

"Uh, pretty sure there was only one world," Leo frowned, scratching his head. "Where did you say you were from, again?"

While the others were beginning to warm to the Asgardian, Malcolm was shaking his head. "Are you telling me that the Avengers know about us now? Did you tell them?" The son of Athena turned towards Percy. For someone who had just woken up, Malcolm could cook up a rather accusatory glare.

"My boy, Thor Odinson was already well aware of our existence," Chiron finally spoke, and all conversation in the room ceased. "Olympians and Asgardians share a difficult history, and long ago agreed to a treaty that barred any future contact between our two domains."

"So why is he here now . . . ?" Lou Ellen asked, albeit hesitantly. "Not that you're not welcome here, but—"

"You're not welcome here," Malcolm concluded firmly. "If the gods don't want us speaking with you, then this meeting is not a good idea. Why would you let him in in the first place?"

"Don't tell me this is your plan to fix everything with the nymphs," Clarisse snorted. "We don't need any outside help, and besides—they aren't worth that much effort."

Everybody fell silent as their tired brains slowly realized that Grover was also in the room. The satyr had not taken his break up with Juniper well, which was understandable. The two had been together even before the Second Titan War.

"We need his apology," Percy finally responded. "The wild spirits will never be willing to listen to us, unless everybody involved admits to their mistakes."

Malcolm nodded, agreeing but not looking too happy about it. "He's part of the problem, so he needs to be part of the solution. But what about this treaty that's between our two worlds?"

"You want to move beyond the treaty," Piper finally spoke, understanding what Percy was doing. The daughter of Aphrodite had a bed head, but looked as stunning as ever. "You want us to be allies." On her shoulder, a sleepy Screech shook her rumpled feathers and began to nibble on Piper's ear. In response, Piper gave a quiet whistle. The sound echoed in the room, seemingly somehow amplified by Piper's charmspeak, and Screech appeared especially pleased with the whistle, giving a happy screech. The great horned owlet was nearly done molting, the iconic ear tufts that her species was known for beginning to show prominently on her head.

"And what do you want in return?"

Leo, who was sitting the closest to Nico, nearly jumped out of his chair. "Son of—dude, stop doing that!"

The son of Hades had remained silent since the beginning of the conversation, and Percy couldn't quite remember if he had even woken him up for the council meeting; Nico wasn't a fan of them, though he had been making a greater effort to attend for the past year.

Nico leaned out of the shadows. "Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic, though.

. . .

Thor regarded the demigod with narrowed eyes, wary, the small hairs on his arm standing up. He did not like this black-clothed child; he smelled of death. And that skull ring on his finger . . . No, he was trouble. Even one of his fellow demigods seemed to lean away from him ever so slightly. Thor finally answered his question. "I am looking for a relic on your planet."

"A rock," Percy elaborated.

Thor looked at him, offended that Percy would describe the Infinity Stones in such a manner.

"Uh, can you be a bit more specific?" The demigod who had jumped scratched his head, and Thor noticed the wood shavings in his hair. "Mineral, non-mineral? Shaped like anything that might distinguish it from the, oh, quadrillion other rocks on this planet?"

"It is very special," Thor said in a serious tone. "Only six of them exist."

"Oh perfect, only six rocks in a world made of rock." The grease-clothed demigod responded sarcastically. "Let me go grab my special rock tracker and we'll be set!"

"You have a special rock tracker?" Thor blinked, surprised and rather suspicious. "Please, bring it here. Asgard has yet to fashion such a device to find these relics."

The demigod rolled his eyes. "Thick as a mountain. Never mind."

Thor frowned. These demigods were too unpredictable. This one smelled of smoke, while the other reminded him of death. And the girl standing next to Percy—he could not help but notice that her clothes were rumpled and her eyes drooped with sleep, and yet she remained unnaturally beautiful. And her voice . . . Thor could not remember the last time he had encountered someone who wielded magic with their voice, but there was no mistaking the charm laced in her words. He was uncomfortably reminded of Loki. He would need to keep his wits about himself when conversing with her. And those two brothers, as well, who continued to eye his hammer. That impish glint had remained in their eyes.

"We can worry about the rocks later," Percy said quickly. "Right now, Thor is going to help us with the nymphs."

Thor reluctantly nodded in acknowledgement. "Of course."

That he was required to apologize to those elfin sprites rankled the Asgardian, but he would honor his promise nonetheless. Afterwards, he would not waste anymore time than necessary for these demigods. His search for the stone residing on Midgard had been fruitless so far; Stark has disappeared along with the rest of the team to deal with some apparently disastrous Midgardian affairs. Thor was becoming increasingly frustrated. Whatever danger that lurked beyond the Nine Worlds still existed, and could bear down upon them at any moment. He did not have days to spare. He could only hope that these demigods would provide the help he required.

He was not impressed with their living quarters; there were many strange houses and a few scattered pavilions, some of which appeared to be in the midst of construction. It was a terribly cramped way to live. Why they could not simply sleep and eat alongside humans was beyond Thor's understanding. Their secretive nature could not possibly benefit them in any way.

However, he had heard enough from his mother and father to know that these demigods had accomplished great—and terrible—things, as it difficult as it may be to admit. And they were powerful enough for his father to believe that separation between their two domains would be better for everyone involved.

"We can discuss more in the morning," Chiron said firmly. "Get some sleep, all of you. Thor Odinson, you may take up residence in one of our guest rooms here."

Thor dipped his head in thanks. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Chiron."

Watching as the demigods left for their respective sleeping dens, and the horse-man—centaur—had a quick word with the two trickster-like brothers, Thor hoped Odin would be pleased with the turn of events. He was ambassador to the rest of the Nine Worlds, after all. Gaining more allies on Midgard, especially ones such as the Olympians, was not to be taken lightly.

And despite their young faces and juvenile attitudes, Thor could not forget all of the stories of his childhood. They were still the children of arrogant and tyrannical gods. Percy and Annabeth may have been kind enough, attempting to mend relations between their two families, but Thor would need to tread carefully from now on. He was in territory that could not yet be considered foe or friend.

And who knew? Perhaps they would be even more powerful than the Avengers.

* * *

 **Bruce Banner**

A few weeks must have already passed since they abducted him, but there was no way to confirm that. The moment they'd arrived here, wherever here was, they'd locked him in this metal room, a toilet in the corner and one or two rations thrown to him each day, his watch quickly confiscated.

Every few days (or perhaps a week . . . or month?), the drug that Ross had apparently developed was administered to him, and Bruce had to admit it: it was effective. The hours immediately following could only be described as a blur; he had fragments of memories and thoughts, but that was it. The rest of the time was filled with sluggish thoughts and utter boredom, the drug somehow managing to lower his heart rate and maintain the low levels for several days. Bruce suspected that if he had been the average human, he would have quickly developed an array of health conditions from having such a consistently low heart rate.

And with this drug pumping through his body, Bruce was having a hard time trying to devise an escape. He wasn't even sure where he was. Somewhere cold, to be sure. A chill seemed to permeate everything: this room, his food, his body. The facility was also old, judging by the degree to which the HYDRA symbol above him was faded, and the unbelievable layer of dust that had been present when he'd first been thrown into this room.

If Bruce Banner had had allergies, he would have been a dead man long ago.

The man who had walked into the room continued to smile down at Bruce. Bruce had decided to call him 'Doctor'. After all, he was the one who always administered the drug, and besides, Bruce had been in a satirical mood.

"I believe you're due for another dose this morning, yes?" The Doctor showed him a new vial, its loathed orange contents sloshing around inside.

Bruce didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to banter with the man today, and his lagging heart rate wouldn't be able to support him if he attempted to resist or fight. But the Doctor was correct; if he was capable of such coherent thoughts now, it meant that the drug was beginning to wear off.

As the Doctor rolled up his sleeve and drew out the drug with a fresh needle, Bruce closed his eyes.

He didn't know what HYDRA wanted with him, and he didn't want to wait and find out. Natasha's face appeared in his mind's eye as the needle sunk into his skin and fear suddenly struck him; he didn't want to die here.

 _Somebody . . . anybody, please help me._

Seconds later, the drug had taken over the doctor's body and any thoughts of a red-haired woman were swept away in a tide of broken words and fractured memories.

* * *

 **Avengers**

 _The ball of energy imploded on impact, decimating three floor and destabilizing a dozen more in one deafening blast, sending a cascade of rubble down into the streets below. Chaos ensued in a tide of screams and shouts as crowds ran, reason and logic overridden in their frantic search for safety._

 _Wanda staggered back, shocked. She could not . . . no . . . this couldn't be happening. Cold-white shock settled into her blood and bones as she looked up at the carnage and devastation. Her whole body felt numb._

 _Next to her, Steve could barely breathe with the weight on his chest, constricting his lungs. "Oh my . . ." The captain fumbled with his comms device, and struggled to find the right words to say. "Sam . . . we need . . . fire and rescue, on the south side of the building." Finally mustering his legs into action, he ran towards the building. "You gotta get up there."_

 _Unaware of anything but the plumes of fire and screams of terror, Wanda sank to her knees, gazing up at the terrible destruction she had caused._

The flight back to the Avengers facility was quiet. Wanda looked terrible, her hair unkempt and dried tears on her face. She looked to be in perpetual shock and refused to speak to anyone, sitting in an isolated corner of the private jet. The other three members of the team couldn't help but mimic her mood, grimaces and frowns dominating the faces of the company for the majority of the flight.

The moment they touched down on the tarmac at the facility, Wanda silently walked out of the jet. When she saw Vision waiting outside, she fled to his open arms and silently began to cry.

"Shh, shh," Vision said quietly. He wasn't sure what else to say; he had never seen Wanda so distraught. So he placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, and guided her inside.

The rest of the team followed suit, their footsteps heavy and muted.

. . .

The next several days were focussed solely on crowd control. The entire global community was furious, with many citing the upcoming UN summit as the only solution for this madness. The voices of organizations and groups advocating for oversight were now dominating the headlines.

Steve couldn't blame them. The destruction and death he had caused weighed heavily on his shoulders, even more so than the horrors of the war still did. People had every right to be angry; hell, he was angry with himself. As experienced as he had become at compartmentalizing his thoughts, the screams and cries of terror still rang in his ears, slicing deeper than a knife. At least cuts healed; memories did not.

And Tony . . . He did not want to imagine the conversation he'd have when the billionaire dropped by the facility. And he definitely didn't want to consider the possibility that Secretary Ross would also be paying a visit.

It would be a meeting filled with accusatory words and glares.

The team was in unspoken agreement that they would need to remain on house arrest for the moment. At least until the furor of the media and public died.

. . .

It didn't take long for Tony to make a visit to headquarters, with Secretary Ross in tow. And it didn't take much longer for tensions to quickly rise in the packed conference room.

". . . for the past year, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision." Secretary Ross looked at each of the sitting Avengers grimly as he paced the room, like a parent reprimanding his children. Except the secretary had no such authority over the team. Not yet, anyway. "That's an arrangement that the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But, I think we have a solution."

The secretary placed a thick document on the table in front of Wanda. In simple, bold font was the following words:

THE SOKOVIA ACCORDS.

"The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organisation. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary."

Silence. Natasha remained relaxed in her seat, noting that Tony was still brooding in the corner, not a flicker of surprise on his face. So he'd been informed of this agreement before the rest of them. Well, they'd known this was coming. The world had been preaching oversight for months now. She wasn't sure what to make of these accords, and could only watched as a wrinkle formed between Steve's brows as the captain absorbed the turn of events.

"The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place." Steve finally said. "I feel we've done that."

Secretary Ross clearly did not feel the same way. "Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground."

"So, there are contingencies," Rhodes guessed. It was evident that the man's allegiances to both the Avengers and the military were still pulling him in opposite directions. Natasha had a feeling that he would be officially choosing one side, soon.

"Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords." Secretary Ross concluded firmly. It was clear that they had no say in the making of the agreement. Every aspect of the Accords had already been determined, judging by the thick width of the document. "Talk it over." The Secretary headed for the door.

"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Natasha called across the room.

Secretary Ross turned around briefly, giving the former spy a hard look. "Then you retire."

. . .

"Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have." Rhodes shot at Sam.

"So let's say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?" Sam snapped back, as equally angry.

The team had relocated to a more comfortable room to discuss their next actions, but it appeared tensions were only rising. How long Sam and Rhodes had been bickering, Natasha wasn't sure.

"117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you're just like 'Naw, it's cool, we got it.'" Rhodes shook his head, disbelieving of Sam's attitude.

"How long are you going to play both sides?"

The blunt question silenced the military pilot for a moment. It was evident to everyone in the room that Rhodes was finally choosing to back the government over the team.

"I have an equation," Vision announced suddenly, from the other side of the room. Next to him sat Wanda.

"Oh, this'll clear it up," Sam scoffed. Nonetheless, everyone quieted.

"In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially." Vision paused, allowing his words to sink in. "And, during the same period, the number of potentially world ending events has risen at a commensurate rate."

Steve finally spoke, closing the Accords document as if he no longer wished to look at it. "Are you saying it's our fault?"

"I'm saying there may be a causality." Vision said quietly. "Our very strength invites challenge, challenge incites conflict. And conflict . . . breeds catastrophe." Flashbacks to Rumlow's bomb momentarily filled Natasha's mind. "Oversight . . . oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand."

"Boom." Rhodes turned back to Sam, claiming his victory.

"Tony." Natasha looked over at the silent figure lying on the couch. "You're being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal."

Steve's pursed his lips. "It's because he's already made up his mind."

"Boy, you know me so well." Tony got up, grimacing and holding his head. "Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache." He made his way to the adjoining kitchen, grabbing a mug off the counter. "That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort. Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal?" He snapped suddenly, looking at the sink as if it were his enemy. "Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?" Clearly, he was angry about something.

Everybody remained silent as Tony suddenly took out his phone and projected the picture of a young boy before them. "That's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall." Tony continued, stirring whatever was in his mug, not looking at anyone. "But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do." Tony scoffed to himself, as if he couldn't believe his good nature. "He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where? Sokovia." The room, if possible, fell even more silent.

"He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know, because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass," Tony nearly spat, looking at the entire team now. Natasha recognized the look in his eyes. "There's no decision making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.

"Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up," Steve said quietly.

"Who said we're giving up?"

"We are, if we're not taking responsibility for our actions." The captain responded calmly. While Tony was brimming with an almost dangerous new energy and determination, Steve's mood had not changed. "This document just shifts the blame."

"I'm sorry, Steve." Rhodes interrupted, clearly in disagreement with the captain. He looked irritated, bordering on angry. "That is dangerously arrogant. This is the _United Nations_ we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, it's not HYDRA."

"No, but it's run by people with agendas, and agendas change." Steve responded, as if the problem was obvious and he couldn't understand why Rhodes didn't grasp it as well.

"That's _good_. That's why I'm here." Tony jabbed a finger at himself, stepping closer to Steve. "When I realised what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing."

Natasha had worked alongside both men long enough to know that she was witnessing the confrontation of two distinctly different characters. Steve and Tony coped with grief and guilt far too differently. Whereas Steve tucked in his head and plowed through with the same principles he'd retained since he was running through the streets of Brooklyn as a teenager, Stark was the complete opposite. Tony was willing to sacrifice anything if it meant fixing or removing the source of his pain, and that included his own values and morals. Their unique attitudes had benefitted them in different ways, from creating one of the most iconic American symbols of WWII to one of the most successful billionaire geniuses in the 21st Century. But right now, their distinct characters were bringing them directly in conflict.

"Tony," Steve turned to face him fully. "You _chose_ to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there's somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us?" Steve looked at each of them. "We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own."

"If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later." Tony said bluntly. "That's the fact. That won't be pretty."

"You're saying they'll come for me." Wanda said quietly.

"We would protect you," Vision reassured her.

"Maybe Tony's right." Natasha finally spoke, still in the midst of wondering if she was making the right decision. "If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off . . ."

"Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?" Sam asked, not believing his ears.

"I'm just . . . reading the terrain." Natasha matched Sam's stare, and risked a look at Steve. The captain was looking at her impassively, not openly reacting to her words. Natasha wondered what he was thinking. There was a time when it'd been the two of them against the world, on the run from both SHIELD and HYDRA. Natasha suspected that Steve didn't have her back this time, however. "We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back."

"Focus up." Tony frowned at her. "I'm sorry, did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?"

"Oh, I want to take it back now," Natasha rolled her eyes, briefly wondering what Bruce would

say if he were here. Maybe nothing, considering the strides he went through to remain non-confrontational.

The former spy had stood on both sides of the law many times. A few times, she'd found herself stranded, with one foot in either side. Her grudges and conflicts with the government were more than numerous, and often arose in her fight to ensure her personal welfare. That and the fact that the badges and suits were usually asses. But that wasn't the case now. For the past few years, Natasha had experienced relative security in all aspects of her life. She had a good job, although it was often thankless, and was surrounded by (mostly) good people. Maybe it was time to put someone else before herself, as hard it might be.

"No no no, you can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented." Tony stood, triumphant. "Okay. Case closed. I win."

* * *

 **Steve**

As Tony celebrated his unexpected victory, Steve's phone vibrated suddenly. Taking it out of his pocket, his heart dropped when he read the incoming text.

 _She's gone. In her sleep._

Steve stood up suddenly, the problems of the present fleeing his mind, his throat beginning to constrict. A blonde woman with fierce eyes that bespoke a fiery and stubborn attitude filled his mind's eye. "I have to go."

And the captain walked out of the room, unaware of everyone's bewildered looks. Entering the stairwell, he only managed one flight of stairs before he stopped and, unbeknownst to his friends, began to cry.

* * *

 **So . . . how do you find the chapter? I know a lot of people have given due criticism on the pace of this story, so I tried to pick up the plot - and A WHOLE TON OF STUFF is going to happen in the next chapter. Anyways, let me know via reviews and PMs.**

 **I am in the midst of responding to PMs and reviews, it may take a few hours.**

 **As always, constructive criticism is welcome with open arms :)**

 **And shoot a PM my way if you want to go on a joyful rant about Guardians of the Galaxy 2!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Response to Reviews:**

 **Guest (Mar 30th)** : Thnx! Your review means a lot :)

 **Memestar** : Thnx man :) I really hope you enjoy this newest chapter!

 **Achievement** : Thank you! I always appreciate your reviews :) Hopefully this chapter was filled with more substance? Let me know, and I hope those waffles were tasty ;)

 **Guest (Jan 6th)** : Thank you for your review - I tried to pick up the pace this chapter, let me know if it worked out better :) With regards to Thor, I'm trying to reach a balance between indifference and understanding, but I'll try to brush up on that in the future.

 **Aaj** : Thank you for your review, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 **Old Man Logan:** I took your criticism into consideration and integrated it into the next few chapters. Let me know what you think :)


	29. Civil War: Just a Kid

**For the first time in never, I actually have a good excuse for my delayed update.**

 **I wrote so much! And I ended up with this insanely long chapter (that I still have a few passages to add to), so long that I can split it into two chapters and I'll still have 10k words each. So I decided to split it. I'm releasing one chapter today, and the second chapter either tomorrow, or two days from now.**

 **Not much else to say . . . I recently spoke to a long time reader of this story, and we were talking about how it's been a little over a year since I posted my first chapter! The first chapter of** ** _this story_** **! It's amazing how much has happened since then. Thank you for all the favourites and follows, the PMs and reviews. And most importantly, thank you for reading this story. I could write as much as I wanted, but the real effort comes from the readers. You guys are the jewel of this story.**

 **Anyways, I really loved writing this chapter (or I guess, two chapters). It's been a real journey.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Just a Kid**

 **Loki**

Loki placed his hands upon the stone balcony, looking down upon the Asgardian warriors fighting in the training grounds.

There were opportunities for battle. Moments for deceit. But right now, it was simply a time of waiting.

Waiting and planning for all the pieces of his thoughts to come together in one grand scheme that would topple Thanos. Permanently. The vast distances between the Infinity Stones did not matter. In a short matter of time, he would have all six within his grasp. For he may have been Loki Silvertongue, he may have been called the Trickster, but what did lies and deceit create, if not a master planner?

A sharp, cold wind cut through Loki's thoughts, and the warriors training in the grounds below him stopped momentarily, their bare arms and faces feeling the brunt of the biting chill. On their faces was a wary concern; it was not even harvest season, and yet it looked as if the months of warmth and sunshine had ended abruptly for some strange, inexplicable reason.

Ignorance was bliss, Loki sympathized. Ragnarök was fast approaching, bringing with it the final winter, prophesized to consume everything in its icy path.

Loki left the balcony, returning to the warmth of the palace fires. There would be many deaths, of course. The apocalypse of the Nine Realms also brought with it the promise of famine and disease. But if—when—he defeated Thanos, the cost of lost lives would be entirely worth it.

As he walked through the halls, heading for his quarters, he passed by Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. The Asgardians were heading for the training grounds, dressed only in battle armour despite the chilly winds outside.

Upon spotting Loki, Volstagg's face turned dark and sour, and the warrior stomped past his friends and out into the cold. Giving their friend a bewildered look, the three left behind bowed their heads before Loki, the illusion of Odin still deceiving their eyes, as it had done for the last two years.

"We apologize for Volstagg, All-Father." Sif pursed her lips, looking after her friend with concern. "He has become increasingly ill-tempered these past few days."

"Ah, I understand." Loki smiled indulgently, his illusion of Odin appearing in a quiet, benevolent mood. "The cold weather appears to be freezing many hearts and tongues that were once warm and well-mannered." He did not mention that Volstagg's heart was strung with anger and his tongue was tied by the oath he'd swore on Valhalla, promising to never tell anyone that Loki was hiding beneath Odin's appearance, or that Ragnarök was fast approaching.

Fandral managed a weak smile, clearly not looking forward to training in the cold. "Indeed, All-Father."

"I wish to thank you for finding Frey." Loki continued in his gravelly tones. "Thor told me the journey was fraught with _draugr_ , and your encounter with Frey sounded particularly curious."

"Yes, he used magic of the Dark Elves to attempt to locate the last two Infinity Stones," Sif said, hiding her unease. The Asgardian did not want to recall their meeting with Frey. Just as it had brought to life some dark thought in Volstagg that was making the warrior angry and moody, it had reminded Sif of feelings she'd rather forget. Like the envy she felt when seeing Thor with that human girl.

"An old but useful tool," Loki nodded. "But I have another request. I need you to retrieve the Aether from the Collector."

Sif blinked in surprise, and even Hogun shifted quietly on his feet. "The Aether?" Fandral asked, trying to hide his surprised tone.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, before Sif finally bowed her head, clasping her fist to her breast. "Of course, All-Father." Recognizing that it was dangerous to venture any further, she nonetheless continued. "If I may ask, why do you wish to retrieve the Aether? Did we not transport it to the Collector so as to avoid housing two stones in Asgard?" She asked, referring to the Tesseract that lay in Asgard's weapons vault.

"Of course you may ask," Loki gave a benevolent smile. "As Frey informed you, there is a force searching for the stones. The Collector's museum is too vulnerable; here, we may safeguard the relics and ensure that they do not fall in the wrong hands."

"And ours are the right hands?" Volstagg rough voice asked behind Fandral. The warrior had returned from the outside and had likely heard of what Loki was asking of his friends, judging by the dark, unconcealed glare he was giving their apparent king.

"Of course," Fandral almost snapped.

Volstagg opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue appeared to fail him. The All-Father raised the slightest of eyebrows in amusement, the action unbeknownst to everyone but the dwarf-like Asgardian.

. . .

 **Fandral**

Fandral frowned at his friend. The cheerful Asgardian rarely became angry or frustrated, but he was reaching the end of his tether with Volstagg. Shortly after they had returned from their trip to Frey, the normally boisterous warrior had become sulky and irritable. Fandral suspected that Frey's dark magic was responsible, though he could not say for sure. What he was certain of was that Volstagg would soon be kicked out of the palace if he continued treating the All-Father in this terrible manner. It was a blessing that Odin had been in a rather benevolent mood the last few days.

"We will retrieve the Aether, All-Father." Hogun said quietly, effectively concluding their conversation. Volstagg angrily stomped away again, muttering barely concealed obscenities, and the three remaining warriors winced, looking apologetically towards their king,

Odin nodded, looking as if he had not heard him. "Make haste. We know not who searches for the stones, but we must ensure the security of those of which we can locate." The king's gaze finally strayed towards Volstagg. "Volstagg may stay here. Perhaps I can speak to him and find the source of his ill-temper."

Lady Sif was not sure that was a wise decision, but did not voice her doubts aloud. She and the warriors two departed immediately, heading to the observatory by horse. Silently, and under the usual unnerving gaze of Heimdall, the trio were sent through space in a vortex of blinding energy, hurtling towards Knowhere and the Collector's museum.

* * *

 **The Collector**

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to his soon arriving, and uninvited, guests, the Collector was making an addition to his museum.

He had lost two dozen mercenaries to the unpredictability of the skeleton warrior. But it had been successful. He had gained . . . this. Tivan could hardly breathe, his gaze drinking in the two relics as they sat side by side, each in their respective casing. His hands shook in his excitement.

The Power Stone and the Reality Stone, both in his possession.

Some few million light years away, the Nova Corps were in a frantic disarray, having lost a weapon locked in what was considered their most secure vault, but Tivan could not care less. Soon.

Soon, all six Stones would be his.

* * *

 **Steve**

The church was packed for the funeral. Many friends, and many currently in or retired from the military.

Steve and five others bore her, the coffin wrapped in the Union Jack.

Steve had known that Peggy's condition had been worsening over the past few months, but the news had still somehow caught him off guard. Memories that felt like a year ago, but were actually rooted over 50 years ago, filled his mind. He had acclimated to this century, but he still missed his own time. He felt lost. Out of place and adrift. With Peggy gone, he now felt truly alone.

And he was surprised again when Sharon Carter walked up to the front and called Peggy Carter her 'aunt'. This former SHIELD agent who had lived across from him for almost a year was Peggy's niece?

Sam was sitting next to him. It was a testament to their close friendship that Sam had come to attend the funeral of someone he had never met, just to provide Steve with some company. Upon seeing Sharon, he had given Steve a knowing look, as if to say, ' _man, your life is_ _ **messed up**_.'

Steve didn't need to be told. Here he sat, coming to the realization that he had fallen hard for Peggy Carter in the 20th century, and developed an attraction for Sharon Carter in the 21st.

Maybe he did have a type.

But it felt strange. Not necessarily wrong, but it certainly didn't give Steve the comfort and contentment that he was sorely in need of right now. Did he see something of Peggy in Sharon?

". . . I asked her once how she had managed to master diplomacy and espionage, in a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either." Sharon continued speaking, her gaze continually returning to Steve's. Maybe they had the same eyes. "And she said, 'Compromise where you can, but where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right." Her voice became quiet. "Even if the _whole world_ is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say: 'No. You move.''"

Steve got the message. He heard Peggy.

Natasha stopped by after the service was finished and everyone had left. Sam was waiting outside, giving him some privacy. Their conversation quickly turned to the Accords.

"Who else has signed?" Steve asked.

"Tony, Rhodey, Vision." Natasha listed.

"And Clint?"

"Says he's retired." She responded with a knowing smile. He had said it before.

"Wanda?"

"TBD." Natasha didn't make him ask his final question. "I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords. There's plenty of room on the jet."

Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry, Nat. I can't sign it."

"I know."

A small smile. They knew each other too well. "Well, then, what are you doing here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone," she said quietly, giving a rare admission of her closest thoughts.

They embraced. For now, they were still friends, not two people driven to opposing sides.

* * *

 **VIENNA**

The deep, hoarse voice of King T'Chaka addressed the seated audience. "When stolen, Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon. We in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows!" The Wakandan's unflinchinggaze swept the room. "We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative. Wakanda is proud to extend this hand in peace—"

The king's son, T'Challa, was suddenly sprinting towards his father. "Everybody, GET DOWN!"

* * *

". . . a bomb hidden in a news van rips through the UN building in Vienna. More than 70 people have been injured, at least 12 are dead, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect whom they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the infamous HYDRA agent who had been linked to numerous counts of terrorism and political assassinations."

Steve and Sam traded looks, while Sharon spoke on the phone to the terrorism task force.

. . .

Outside the heavily damaged building, firetrucks, ambulances and police cruisers were everywhere. Natasha had no difficult spotting T'Challa, and sat on the bench next to his.

"I'm very sorry."

T'Challa looked at her. The Wakandan didn't bear the same smile nor warmth that he had expressed just an hour before. In his hands, he held a black ring.

"In my culture, death is not the end." He spoke softly. "It's more of a 'stepping off point'. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where . . . you can run forever."

"That sounds very peaceful," Natasha said quietly.

"My father thought so." His face hardened, and he slipped the ring on. "I am not my father."

Natasha sensed the shift in his mood. "T'Challa, task force will decide who will bring in Barnes."

The King of Wakanda stood up and began to walk away. "Don't bother, Ms. Romanoff. I'll kill him myself."

* * *

 **Steve**

It didn't take Steve long to decide that he was going after Bucky on his own. With Sam's promised help and intel provided by Sharon that Bucky had been spotted in Bucharest, they quickly left for the Romanian capital.

Nobody could understand the bond between him and Bucky. Here they were, two men from an entirely different reality—the only two people in the entire world who could not call this time their home. Their friendship had lasted the young and teenage years in Brooklyn, fighting off bullies and goofing off, the hard years of camaraderie in the war, watching over each other's backs, and then more than 50 years of separation and silence, they had found each other once again.

Nobody could understand that kind of bond, because they had never been born in one century and woken up in another, everything they had ever known ripped away. The present suddenly history and the future now the present. Not Natasha. Not Tony[TL1] .

Only Bucky.

And so close after losing Peggy, Steve wasn't about to lose another of his closest family.

. . .

He and Sam found Bucky relatively easily. In civilian clothing, living the civilian life. Standing in his small apartment room, tt was evident from the wary way he regarded Steve that his friend recognized him, but was still missing the bulk of his memories.

The moment the German terrorist task force arrived, Bucky bolted. The chase that ensued left a ravaged apartment stairwell and destruction on the Romanian highways. Steve had a hell of a time trying to stop the armed operatives from killing Bucky, while at the same time trying to ensure that Bucky didn't fatally injure any of them in his attempt to flee. With the introduction of a vigilante dressed in a black suit and a special forces helicopter, it wasn't long before the chase ended in a highway tunnel. The task force finally enclosed Steve, Bucky and the lithe, black-suited figure in a barricade of SUVs and bristling firearms.

A metal suit dropped from the sky, landing heavily on the concrete. The mask retracting from around his head, Rhodes aimed his repulsors at Bucky and the stranger. So the Accords were already in effect.

Rhodes did not look impressed. "Stand down. _Now._ "

Steve paused, then put his shield behind his back.

"Congratulations, Cap. You're a criminal."

. . .

They left Steve in an office. T'Challa, who had turned out to be the man beneath the Black Panther mask, was given basically free rein. It helped to be the King of Wakanda. Sam wandered off, testing the tolerance of nearby security. Through the glass walls, Steve could look into the control room, a dozen screens displaying different images within the facility. In a few screens, he could see Bucky restrained in a fortified box.

Tony walked in, looking clean cut in a suit and red tie. "Hey, you want to see something cool? I poached something from Dad's archives." He held up a slender case, opening it to reveal two antique pens. "Felt timely. FDR signed the Lend-Lease bill with these in 1941. Provided support to the Allies when they needed it most."

Steve looked at the pens. "Some would say it brought out country closer to war."

"See, if not for these, you wouldn't be here. I'm trying to . . . what do you call it?" Tony waved his hands at them. "That's an olive branch. Is that what you call it?"

Steve looked around, his eyes searching. "Is Pepper here? I haven't seen her."

Tony's face fell. "We're kinda . . . Well, not kinda . . ."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Pregnant?"

"No. Definitely not that. We're . . . we're taking a break," he finally said. "It's nobody's fault."

"I'm so sorry, Tony. I didn't know."

Tony didn't say anything for a moment. "A few years ago, I almost lost her, so I trashed all my suits. Then, we had to mop up HYDRA . . . and then Ultron. My then, and then, and then . . . I never stopped. Because the truth is I don't wanna stop. I don't wanna lose her. I thought maybe the Accords could split the difference." Tony stood up, beginning to pace. "In her defense, I'm a handful. Yet, Dad was a pain in the ass, but he and mom always made it work." He looked out at the setup of computers.

"You know, I'm glad Howard got married." Steve said quietly. "I only knew him when he was young and single."

"Oh, really?" Tony turned around, his voice sarcastic. "You two knew each other? He never mentioned that. Maybe only a thousand times. God, I hated you," he muttered.

"I don't mean to make things difficult."

"I know, because you're a very polite person." Tony flourished a hand in his direction.

"If I see a situation pointed south . . ." Steve shook his head. "I can't ignore it. Sometimes I wish I could."

"No you don't."

Steve exhaled, giving a thin smile. "No, I don't. Sometimes . . ."

"Sometimes I want to punch you in your perfect teeth," Tony overrode him. "But I don't wanna see you gone. We need you, Cap. So far, nothing's happened that can't be undone, if you sign. We can make the last 24 hours legit. Barnes gets transferred to an American psych-center, instead of a Wakandan prison."

Steve picked up one of the pens, looking at it. "I'm not saying it's impossible, but there would have to be safeguards."

Tony perked up. "Sure. Once we put out the PR fire, those documents can be amended. I'd file a motion to have you and Wanda reinstated—"

"Wanda?" Steve frowned. "What about Wanda?"

"She's fine. She's confined to the compound, currently. Vision's keeping her company."

"Oh god, Tony!" Steve turned, shaking his head. "Every time! Every time I think you see things the right way."

"What? It's a 100 acres with a lap pool," Tony spoke over him. "It's got a screening room. There's worse ways to protect people."

"Protection?" Steve repeated in disbelief. "Is that how you see this? This is protection? It's internment, Tony!"

"She's not a US citize—"

"Oh, come on, Tony!"

"And they don't grant visas to weapons of mass destruction."

"She's a kid!"

"GIVE ME A BREAK!" Tony shouted. He exhaled loudly. "I'm doing what has to be done . . . to stave off something worse."

Steve nodded faintly in disappointment. "You keep telling yourself that." He put the pen down. "Hate to break the set," he said, unapologetic. He walked out of the office.

* * *

 **Bruce**

They were excited. Distant footsteps back and forth, shouts—something was going on. Weary and wary, Bruce got up and quietly tried to open the door. It didn't budge. Damn it. But . . . god, could they be so stupid?

The cellphone lay on the steel table, as if baiting him. Waiting for him.

Bruce grabbed it, his lagging heart rate struggling to keep up in his restrained excitement. _Please, please . . ._ He turned on the phone and the breath caught in his throat when it automatically opened to the home screen. No password. This was beyond luck. This was bad phone security on the part of the HYDRA agent. Who else was going to swipe his phone when they were clearly in the middle of nowhere?

His fingers shook as he punched in the numbers. There was only one person he could call, one person who he trusted to pick up.

* * *

 **Tony**

Sitting in the office alone, looking at the displaced pair of pens before him while Steve's words continued to bounce around in his head, Tony was not in a good mood.

He was watching Barnes' interrogation begin when his phone suddenly rang. He immediately brought it out from his suit jacket, frowning when he noticed that it was an unknown number. And it was routing right through his satellite. Only one number gave that special privilege, and he'd given it to very few people.

"Friday, run a trace." Tony muttered. He accepted the incoming call. "Who is this?"

"Tony? Is that you? Thank god. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Tony flinched from the harsh, robotic words blaring from the phone. The person was using some kind of tech to digitally modify their voice. Devoid of any emotion, it almost sounded like he was taunting him. "Who is this?" Tony repeated, his voice hardening. "How did you get this number?"

"What? Tony, it's me! Bruce!" The harsh voice continued, louder.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tony scoffed, suddenly realizing what was happening. "The secretary, that Blaisley kid, right? The 'robotics and computer expert', huh? Somehow found a way into my systems, did you? Buddy, you picked the wrong day to flaunt your stuff." Tony brought the phone speaker closer to his mouth, beyond annoyed now. "You think you're invincible because Pepper hired you?"

"Wait, no! Tony—"

"Well guess what? You're _fired_." He hung up the phone.

 _Would you like me to continue the trace?_ Friday's voice quietly emitted from his glasses.

"No, forget it."

* * *

 **Bruce**

Bruce had never heard a more dreaded sound than the beep of that ended call. God, he was so stupid. The moment he'd heard that robotic voice respond, his limbs had frozen up. He'd forgotten the voice modification program embedded in the phones, protecting the identity of the operatives. Before he could frantically redial, the door of his prison was thrown open and four HYDRA agents flooded in, his desperate shouts having drawn their attention. One ripped the phone from his grasp while the other three gave a few punishing kicks and punches. Then they left him gasping on the floor, his ribs and head aching, but the hole in his heart hurting the most.

* * *

 **Thor**

 _"We can discuss more in the morning," Chiron said firmly. "Get some sleep, all of you. Thor Odinson, you may take up residence in one of our guest rooms here."_

 _Thor dipped his head in thanks. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Chiron."_

Thor awoke in the morning, refreshed from a night of sleep uninterrupted by nightmares. His room lit by the rising sun, the Asgardian looked about for his armour, but found only a pair of clean jeans and an orange shirt, which pictured a winged horse and words in bold font:

 **Camp Half-Blood**

Hoping that his armour had not been stolen, Thor donned the given clothes, the t-shirt fitting him rather snuggly. Once he secured Mjölnir to the belt of his jeans, he left his room and wandered down the hallway, finding his way back to the main room of the house where the demigods had held their meeting last night.

With sunlight filtering into the house, Thor looked around with a renewed gaze. An old wooden table, chairs, mantle and . . . what was that? Thor frowned, stepping closer to the creature mounted above the mantle. It appeared to be the head of some creature, proudly displayed in the same manner many residents of Vanaheim often did with massive beasts of celebratory hunts. And yet, did that whisker just twitch?

Thor flinched back in surprise as the creature suddenly opened its very alive eyes and snarled at him, baring sharp white canines before closing its mouth with an audible _snap!_

"Be kind, Seymour. He is a guest." Chiron chided, entering the room. The centaur was so tall he was forced to bow his head, lest he strike it upon the ceiling.

"It is alive," Thor said, surprised.

"Yes, very much so." The centaur tossed something in the air and the beast caught it, chewing happily. "Come along, Mr. Odinson. Seymour does not take kindly to strangers."

The Asgardian left the room, following Chiron out of the house and into the morning sun. Hidden in the dark of the night, Thor had not seen much yesterday. Now, it appeared he was stepping into a new world.

Children, everywhere.

Working in fields that smelled sweetly aloft the wind, a few swimming in a lake and playing sports that humans greatly enjoyed, many helping to build some sort of house or . . . cabin. Juveniles as young as five or six, and seniors like Percy who were nearly adults. All going about strange tasks and daily errands.

Thor could not contain his surprise. "All . . . all children of the gods?"

Chiron looked out over the activity, as if he were a proud father. "All of them. Some abandoned for death and found, others who stumbled across this camp. They all have their stories. They are all demigods."

Thor could not understand. Where were the gods? Why were there only children? How irresponsible could a parent be to abandon their child and—

"There are reasons," Chiron said quietly, reading his face and recognizing what he was thinking. "What knowledge you have of us, what stories you have been told—do not take them to heart. The gods care very much for their children, but they cannot show that love. It is forbidden, and far too dangerous."

"For the gods?" Thor asked, unconvinced.

"For the gods and demigods." Chiron said firmly, as if he was unwilling to explain any further. The centaur gave him a hard look, and Thor remembered the bow and arrows from last night. "Remember, Thor Odinson. You are a guest here, and one of the few outsiders who has ever gazed upon our world. Put away what assumptions and prejudices you may have of us, or this alliance you wish to develop will have a quick and unfortunate ending."

Thor bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Of course." Despite his words, Thor suspected that Chiron was giving him less of a threat and more of a warning. He did not seem one to give threats.

The centaur was beginning to remind Thor of the elderly Fulla of Vanaheim. The two shared an old energy, and although Thor feared Fulla's rebukes more so than Chiron's, it was nevertheless evident that if Thor enjoyed breathing, he had better not push his fortunes with this centaur. Reflecting on last night's meeting with the demigods and Chiron, it was clear that the children held their mentor in a high regard. And Thor was not in the mood to provoke tempers by angering Chiron. There were times for arrogance and pride, but not now. Now was the time for diplomacy.

Chiron gave a slight smile, as if reading his thoughts again. "Rest easy, Odinson. Our two worlds may finally reconcile our differences."

"If your gods allow it."

Chiron's smile lessened. "The gods are not your worry. But let's not concern ourselves about that now. Percy and Leo, why don't you give Thor a tour?"

Thor turned around to see Percy walking towards them, speaking to the smoke-smelling demigod, 'Leo', from the meeting last night.

"Uh, like an orientation? I've got a couple classes to teach downtown this afternoon, but sure." Percy gave Thor a slight smile, looking preoccupied by something else.

Leo gave Thor a thumbs-up and grinned.

"I tried to contact Querci this morning to try to set up a meeting, but the IM couldn't go through for some reason," Percy shook his head. "It was like . . . a bad connection."

Chiron sighed. "She likely does not wish to speak. I can imagine she is still very angry."

"Yeah, ditto. I'll try again later, but if it still doesn't work . . . I guess I'll just have to go straight to Central Park." Percy did not look enthusiastic about that idea.

"We will go together," Thor placed a hand on the demigod's shoulder. "I am, after all, partly to blame for the ire of the elfin sprites."

"Nymphs," Percy corrected, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, of course." Thor said, ignoring the annoyed look Percy shot him. The creatures looked like elves, and had the bearings of a sprite—could anyone fault him for calling them elfin sprites?

Little did Thor know, his lack of respect for the nymphs—so much so that he could not grasp their true name and nature—would lead to nothing but trouble.

. . .

Percy and Leo first took Thor to the Dining Pavilion to pick up some food. Thor was unaware of the fact, but ever since the nymphs and the majority of satyrs had left, a massive number of tasks and errands had been left to the demigods. The cooking easily fell to the Demeter cabin, with some help from the Hermes and Iris kids. A few demigods from the Nike cabin sometimes pitched in, but it often quickly descended into a match of who's bread was cut more evenly or some other trivial matter, so their help was rarely welcome.

And a new batch of strawberries had been harvested that morning by the Ares kids, as evidenced by the many crushed bodies of the little red fruit strewn across one of the tables. They had painted the Nike table in dripping red juice, and Percy did not want to discover how and when the children of victory would repay the favour.

"Hello Thor," Drew, a daughter of Aphrodite, strutted into the Pavilion, a sly smile on her face. Percy always imagined a shark's teeth under those red lips, just waiting to sink her teeth into the right prey. "Don't you look . . . handsome." _And tasty_ , her roaming eyes seemed to add.

Everyone had failed to mention to the Asgardian that his shirt was far too small for a man of his size. The largest shirts they had ever needed to order were for Tyson, and even his size was rather small on Thor. He could have worn any shirt, long-sleeved or short, and his muscles would have shown just as prominently, Percy suspected. The man was huge.

"Hello, demigod," Thor regarded her with unreadable blue eyes, apparently unaffected by Drew's charmspeak. Percy developed a grudging respect for the Asgardian.

Drew held out her hand. "Oh please, let's not be so awkward. Call me Drew."

Thor shook her proffered hand, and Percy noticed that his other hand had grasped the handle of his war hammer, almost as if to counter the effects of Drew's words. Or maybe he was getting ready to smash someone's head in. Percy wrapped his hand around Riptide in his pocket, ready just in case.

"My apologies, Drew," Thor said quietly, "but if our two worlds are to become allies, it would be reasonable to cease any use of magic with one another, for now. I have respected my end of the agreement. Respect yours." The Asgardian stood, ending the handshake, his words now tinged with warning. "And bear in mind that I will not succumb to your enchanted words, demigod. Not without a fight."

Drew blinked, taken aback by the cold reception. Percy knew the daughter of Aphrodite was not used to rebuffs. In fact, until now, Jason had been her first and last failed catch. "No, of-of course." All the silk and velvet in Drew's voice was all gone now. "I just, I need to do something." And the demigod fled out of the Pavilion and out of sight.

"Nice!" Leo crowed, pumping a fist into the air. "Did you see her face? Completely gobsmacked! High-five dude!"

Thor looked at the demigod, unimpressed and possibly even more tense.

"Oh, come on! We're not all like that, just Drew." Leo promised, grinning. "She got what she deserved. Can you imagine if we all tried to hit on you? Oh gods, disgusting," the demigod groaned, as if wishing he had not conjured up the thought.

Thor's anger began to fade. "I don't understand. Why did she court me?"

Percy shook his head, laughing for a moment. It was a memory to be savoured. "It's just how she is. Don't worry Thor, Leo's right. Drew had that coming."

"Piper's gonna love this," Leo snorted, laughing again.

. . .

"Hmph ," Thor grunted, returning to his food and sincerely hoping that Percy and Leo's words were true. Because this Drew had been the epitome of the stories he knew about demigods; deceitful, unmoral, insolent . . . Their alliance would not go far if this camp was full of Drews.

"Where is my armour?" Thor asked, finishing off his plate.

"Oh, thought you might like some complimentary polish and repair. On the house." Leo grinned, standing up. "Come on, I'll take you to the armoury and forges."

Following Leo and Percy, Thor passed many more demigods. Most of them looked at him with a blend of curiosity and wariness. Some greeted him, welcoming him to Camp Half-Blood. But none of them appeared anything like Drew. The worse he got was "Howdy!" and a tip of the hat, and Thor didn't even think that was intended as an insult.

There was no malice, no evil—just children. It was beginning to appear as if Percy and Annabeth really had been telling the truth, all those nights ago. These were demigods, looking to establish their own life in this world, like any other fellow Midgardian.

By the time they reached the armoury, Thor could already feel the heat of the neighbouring forge, even though it was still several dozen strides away.

"Here it is!" Leo patted on a pile of armour neatly packed on a worktable. A newly cleaned and oiled silver breastplate gleamed in the sun, bespeaking the royalty that it had been forged for. "Never seen the material before, but damn it's nice," the demigod whistled appreciatively.

"Asgard holds some of the finest metals in all of the Nine Realms." Thor said with pride, examining his armour. He had to admit, the demigod knew how to make the metal shine.

"Yeah, pretty sure you said something like that last night. Still makes zero sense," Leo shook his head. "Anyways, it's all new and pretty again. Got Mrs. O'Leary to carry some of the armour to the forges, cuz some of it's pretty heavy and, well," Leo flexed his biceps, his skinny arms betraying his strength. "Still working on these babies."

Thor picked up one of his gauntlets, raising it to eye level. There was a gaping hole through the metal.

Leo winced, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. Mrs. O'Leary can be such a klutz sometimes. But give me a couple hours, and it'll be good as new," he grinned reassuringly, prying the gauntlet out of Thor's hand and immediately racing to the forges.

"I would like to speak to this Mrs. O'Leary," Thor said, frowning.

"Sure, if you want." Percy laughed, though Thor didn't understand what was so humorous. "Don't know if she's still around, but we'll probably come across her sooner or later." The demigod gave a knowing smile. "Let's go see the rest of the camp for now."

* * *

 **Percy**

"Leo's the son of Hephaestus; these are all his half-brothers and sisters." Percy motioned to the demigods covered in sweat and grime, working in the bellows of the forges. Really, they were all related in some way or form, but Percy didn't put too much thought into it.

"Hephaestus . . ." Thor said the name carefully, as if recognizing it.

"God of blacksmiths, volcanoes—"

"And fire!" Thor seemed to suddenly recall. "He was tossed into Hel for being a demon!"

Percy winced, looking at the forges and hoping they wouldn't explode. "Uh, no. And if you don't want all your hair and eyebrows singed off, you might not want to repeat that."

Thor looked at him, unimpressed. "Because your gods punish those who speak ill of them."

"I'm just saying it doesn't hurt to give them some respect." Percy said, hating himself for saying so. After all, he had insulted his fair share of gods. "Hephaestus is mostly forgiving if it doesn't involve his mother, compared to . . . other gods, but you still shouldn't look for trouble." Wow, didn't he sound like a hypocrite today.

"Then I apologize for my words," Thor said, looking almost as if he did regret his actions. "I will put away my prejudices and assumptions, for now."

"I'm guessing Chiron told you that? But yeah, that doesn't hurt."

The two walked along the lake, the sun rising higher as the morning waned.

Percy looked at the war hammer secured at Thor's waist, curious. "What you said last night . . . is it really true? Only 'worthy' people can hold it?"

Thor smiled, unfastening the hammer and tossing it from hand to hand. "Of course."

"But, how does it decide who's worthy? Is it alive?"

Thor shrugged, clearly unable to give any straight answers but indifferent to his lack of knowledge. Clearly, he trusted his hammer completely. "It is the magic of Mjölnir and the title it bestows upon its owner."

"But what does it consider to be worthy?"

Thor smiled. "That is for the wielder to determine."

Percy groaned, frustrated. "Why does that sound like a riddle? And why am I starting to sound like Annabeth?" He asked himself aloud, shaking his head and feeling a pang in his chest. Did he miss her so much that he was asking all the questions she would invariably ask? Yep, guilty.

"You are love sick, my friend." Thor smiled again. It was a genuine smile.

Percy sighed. Wasn't that the same thing Steve said to him, a few days ago?

"And if we are on the subject of Annabeth . . ." Thor's look turned guarded, almost as if he didn't want to continue. "It may be of interest to note that she holds valuable qualities." Thor flipped the war hammer, and it gave it's characteristic sound of a metallic echo.

Percy blinked. "You mean, she can hold—"

"No." Thor said firmly, almost defensively. "I am saying she bears some characteristics that liken her to Mjölnir. The first night I happened across you, in that forest with the elfin—nymphs—she happened to hinder the hammer's movement. It was chance, even the fates could not have foreseen it."

Percy's surprise was fading. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was Annabeth for gods' sake. So that meant the hammer considered bravery and courage to be worthy? And intelligence, and world-saving stuff. And funny, stubborn, blonde, grey-eyed . . . He really missed her.

"Hey, does that mean she could be the princess of Asgard?" Percy grinned.

Thor gave him a dark look. "No."

Percy wasn't convinced. Maybe that was why Thor had been reluctant to tell him in the first place. Looking back to the hammer, Percy briefly wondered, if he ever got the chance, would he be able to move or lift it? Was he worthy? After all, he had fought at Annabeth's side for so many years . . . what she had gone through, he had as well.

"To be Prince of Asgard, let alone King, involves many trials and many sacrifices." Thor secured the hammer at his waist again. "Mjölnir plays but a small role, if any, although it is always comforting to know that a man, or a lady, is worthy to be your ruler, yes?" Thor frowned at him. "I am telling you this in confidence, Percy, as a sign of goodwill. Speak with Annabeth if you wish, but do not bandy the knowledge about."

Percy nodded, understanding. The Asgardian was extending a hand of friendship by telling him something that might otherwise backfire on him. "Thank you. Do I have to tell you one of my deepest, darkest secrets now?" He joked.

Thor huffed. "That was hardly a deep and dark secret."

Percy shrugged, grinning. "Whatever you say."

"If you would like a deep and dark secret, I will tell you. When I was a child, my brother and I sneaked out of the palace and stole Heimdall's sword."

Percy snorted and gave a slow clap, unimpressed. "Wow. That sounds terrible. It's amazing you didn't die."

Thor smiled indulgently. "Heimdall's sword can be used to open the Bifrost, which will transport you anywhere in the Nine Realms, and beyond. Father was furious," the Asgardian chuckled, recalling the memory.

Percy grunted. "Again with all that Universe stuff?" As much as he trusted Thor to tell him the truth most of the time, he still had his doubts about there being billions of other worlds besides Earth. He needed to see that with his own eyes before he would believe it, and that probably wasn't going to happen anywhere in the near—or far—future. "I think the most surprising thing is that you have a brother. Is he back in Asgard?"

Thor's face darkened. "No. He is dead."

Percy suddenly remembered that Thor _did_ have a brother—the one that trashed Manhattan. And despite his actions, Thor clearly still loved and missed him. "I'm sorry."

Thor sighed. "He was lost, and he made terrible choices, but he was still my brother."

The Asgardian's words reminded Percy of Luke. The son of Hermes had also been misguided, but in the end, Percy still remembered the brotherly care the older demigod had given him when he first arrived at Camp, and he knew Annabeth still missed him from time to time.

Percy looked at his watch, remembering that he had a few classes to teach downtown today. Yup, 1:28 pm. Time to leave. He had Tony's private lesson as his second class, but he had a feeling that the man wouldn't be showing up today. Not with everything surrounding the Avengers right now.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go to the city for a few hours. Maybe . . . hey Piper, want to show Thor the cabins?"

A girl with a messy braid thrown over one shoulder and an owl swaying on the other turned around, frowning. Then she saw Percy and Thor and smiled.

"Hey, Percy! I just finished talking to Jason—he's coming back tomorrow." She looked towards Thor, frowning slightly. Evidently, she had told Jason about their guest and the son of Jupiter was returning to Camp to meet him.

"You are related to the demigod Drew," Thor returned her frown, not looking happy as he heard her voice.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Piper sighed. "She tried to seduce you, didn't she? She tried that on my boyfriend, too."

"Piper's not like Drew," Percy said quickly, reassuring the Asgardian.

. . .

Thor grunted, looking the demigod over. Ripped jeans, a dagger belted at the hip, flannel shirt, rolled-up sleeves and thick-sole boots . . . Perhaps Percy was telling the truth. Although her eyes were rather disconcerting; he could not tell if they were hazel or blue . . . or maybe they were green? Strange.

"Trust me, just because we have the same mother doesn't mean we're sisters," Piper snorted. And she seemed to have an uncanny ability to understand what he was thinking.

"Your mother is . . . ?"

"Aphrodite." Piper sighed. "Queen of drama and everything love-related."

"Ah, the whor—"

Percy jabbed his elbow into Thor's side before he could get the whole word out, glaring at him. Piper raised an eyebrow and the owl on her shoulder clacked her beak threateningly at Thor.

"He's still learning," Percy explained.

"Ah, yes, sorry," Thor apologized grudgingly to both the demigod and owl. After all, he did not know whether or not the bird was also a child of Aphrodite. She clearly did not like him.

"Right. Well, if you're going to insult my mother, why don't we go ahead and offend the whole royal family." Piper smiled. "Come on, I'll show you the cabins. And don't mind Screech—she doesn't like Percy either," Piper laughed. The look she gave the owl was almost motherly.

Percy watched the two walk off, hoped that Screech wouldn't start a fight with the Asgardian and raced off to the hills to hail a taxi. Hopefully he wasn't too late for his classes.

* * *

 **Piper**

" . . . and these are our strawberries and grapes," Piper motioned to the rows upon rows of plants, the emptiness of the fields striking her heart. She really did miss the satyrs. Even Coach Hedge was gone, off on a road trip with his wife and kid. Better that way, Piper supposed. Otherwise, he might try to storm Central Park and hit Querci over the head with his bat. "We sell some of it to the city, to help support the camp."

"They are not . . . poisoned?" Thor asked, examining them.

"Nope. You probably ate some this morning, to be honest." Piper had gotten used to Thor's strange questions. Any other demigod would have probably attacked the Asgardian by now for everything he had implied so far, be it that they were cannibals or serial killers, but Piper could be patient and tolerant when she wanted to be. "Because of the gods' blessing, we can grow them year-round."

Thor grunted, looking up at the sky. "And would you consider that a blessing, as well?"

Piper followed his gaze, biting her lip when she noticed the grey front of a storm brewing far in the distance. She had lived here long enough to know that that was no normal rainstorm. It was too big, and it seemed to be coming straight for them, slowly but surely.

Zeus was not happy. And considering who she was talking to, Piper was pretty sure she knew why.

"What should I say?" Thor asked suddenly. "In apology to Querci?"

"What did you do wrong?" Piper asked, feeling like her dad for a moment.

 _"What should I say to apologize?" Her younger self asked her dad._

 _Tristan McLean could only look at his daughter with disappointment. "What did you do wrong?" He raised his hand, listing off her crimes. "You stole a car, nearly struck a pedestrian, ran . . ."_

Thor almost seemed to shrug. "I . . . injured some elf—wild spirits?"

"Yes, and _killed_ many in blind, irresponsible ignorance. Disrupted entire forests for years. Picked a fight with one of them. Treated them like objects, with absolutely no respect. You've got a pretty bad rap sheet." Piper concluded.

"Rap sheet?"

"A criminal record," Piper clarified. Next to her, a sly leafy tendril looped itself around her wrist. "Stop," she commanded, batting it away.

The plant immediately retracted, rippling as if irritated.

"What is that?" Thor frowned.

"Hydracinth," Piper sighed. "Part of the D&D garden, though I don't know why it's all the way over here. Pretty sure it was the Ares cabin who planted it first. Make sure not to touch it—it can strangle a centaur to death. Chiron had a close call a few months ago," she recalled.

The Asgardian seemed to perk in interest. "I would like to see this D&D garden."

Piper raised an eyebrow. It was almost as if he wanted to see if he could wrestle a hydracinth. "It's called 'Dangerous and Deadly' for a reason. But if you want a tour . . ."

Thor beamed.

"Alright. But nobody better blame me when you die a horrible and painful death."

* * *

 **Olympus**

"What is he doing here?" Zeus fumed. The King of Olympus had his Master Bolt out and the weapon was crackling with violent arcs of electricity, reflecting the mood of its wielder. The rest of the gods and goddesses shifted in their seats, his anger making them uneasy. Far below, a massive storm was brewing.

"This is what you wished for, is it not, Father?" Athena asked calmly, her gray eyes unblinking. "Now you may learn of the Asgardian's reasons for coming to our world."

Zeus frowned darkly at his daughter, as if sensing some tinge of sarcasm that lay deep beneath her words.

"This is what happens when we don't answer the prayers of the wild spirits," Demeter said quietly. "Their demise becomes ours."

Ares snorted. "Hardly. They'll starve out in the end, just watch. Pathetic goats and trees."

Demeter's eyes flashed. "Watch your mouth, savage."

The war god was taken aback for a moment, unused to the blunt words spat out by the normally peaceful and mildly annoying goddess. Then he recovered, baring his teeth and sneering. "You got that right. Looks like you've got a soft spot for those spineless nymphs."

Demeter leapt to her feet, anger twisting her delicate features, and Ares summoned a massive spear, thirsting for a fight.

Poseidon placed a gentle hand on the goddess' arm, his eyes raging but his voice quiet. "He is not worth the fight, Sister."

"Lost your trident, old man?" Ares raised an eyebrow, his flaming eyes provoking.

"I would say he's just tired of your antics," Dionysus sighed, steepling his fingers. "Have you no imagination? That's the second time I've seen that spear. Please, change it before you bore us to death."

Confused by the wine god's words, Ares finally sat back down on his throne, the weapon disappearing. "Whatever you say, old drunk," the war god finally managed.

"Don't insult my husband, Dionysus," Aphrodite said lightly. Across from her, Hephaestus growled quietly, the old grudges flaming. "And get rid of that look of indifference on your face. We all know you're as invested in those hopeless nature spirits as Demeter."

The wine god didn't react, knowing full well that Father was watching. And sure enough . . .

"When I find out who released those nymphs from their trees in Camp Half-Blood, I will make them pay for the headache they have caused," Zeus growled. "Alongside that petulant dryad, _Querci_."

Dionysus surveyed the room, his eyes lingering on Demeter's before drifting off again.

Ever since the nymphs had walked from their trees and abandoned the camps, Central Park had experienced a massive influx of nature spirits and allies, quickly outnumbering the human population in the area. In Zeus' eye, it was like a gruesome, swelling welt that needed to be burned off. Nobody defied the gods. Nobody. And especially not these nymphs, who had prospered under the protection and benevolence of Olympus for so many centuries.

"I am certain you will," Hera said, patting her husband's arm. "And I am sure it is only a matter of time before Odinson reveals the nature of these relics he is seeking out."

"Hmmm," the god grunted. "The only time Jackson will prove useful. Letting that barbarian into the camp . . . I should strike him down where he stands!"

Poseidon gripped the arms of his throne, his anger growing. If his brother spoke ill of Percy one more time . . .

There was a flutter of wings and Hermes suddenly appeared before the king. "Father, Aeolus wishes to address the court. He says that many of his _aurae_ servants have left, and now, and I quote, he is 'going bat-shit crazy with all the storm spirits left behind.'"

"He was already bat-shit crazy," Ares laughed, his eyes burning brighter in his merriment. "The Master of Winds is old and useless. He should be replaced."

"Put him in the waiting room, with the rest of those insolent, power-hungry _minor_ gods," Zeus ordered Hermes. "Everyone wants a throne nowadays," he muttered darkly. "It's Jackson's fault, and that son of Jupiter. They put that idea in their heads."

No one spoke as the king condemned the demigods, recognizing full well that it was Zeus in charge, and not the disciplined, militaristic Jupiter who was devoted more to the state than to power.

The king cast his eyes down towards the city and the camp, glowering darkly, his patience waning. "It is your move, Asgardian," the god growled quietly.

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy arrived in front of the fighting studio with five minutes to spare. Inside, he could see people greeting each other and spreading out in the room, ready for their lesson.

"Percy!"

The demigod turned, and blinked in surprise when he saw who had called his name. "Hey, Peter! What are you doing here? Did we plan to play some ball today?" A random thought crossed his mind. "Or are you here for my class? I think there's a minimum age . . ."

Peter Parker cleared his throat, a rather nervous look on his face. "Class? Oh, no, I just wanted to talk to you about . . . something. I remembered you mentioned that you taught here, when we were playing basketball. Hey, you have a tattoo?" He said suddenly, looking at his arm. "SPQR . . . does it mean something?"

Percy frowned. Had he mentioned that he worked here? He couldn't remember . . . He looked down at his arm where the motto of the Roman Empire was burned into his arm, along with a trident and a vertical bar representing one year of service. Of course, that's what _he_ saw. With the help of the Mist, the tattoo was usually just reduced to SPQR in small font at his wrist, or more oftentimes, completely hidden. He could tell the truth and say that it was Latin for "the Senate and People of Rome", but he suspected that wouldn't go over too well. "Uh, yeah. It stands for Super Powerful . . . Queens Rule," Percy nearly coughed the last words out, trying to come up with something reasonably coherent. "It's for my girlfriend," he added, trying to look serious.

* * *

 **Peter**

"Oh," Peter scratched his head, unsure of how to respond. So the guy had a weird tattoo . . . it didn't matter. He was just distracting himself from the real reason he wanted to talk to Percy.

Peter was lost. No, scratch that—he knew exactly where he was: stuck between Fury and the entire world finding out that he was Spider-Man. He didn't know what to do, or how long this blackmail could drag out, but he was certain that he wasn't willing to continue spying on someone who, in all likely possibilities, was just an older version of himself. Someone who possessed strange powers and hid an alter ego, but wiser and more experienced. And Peter knew that if he were the 'older version', he wouldn't want some 'younger version' to come along and spy on him, even if the ex-director of SHIELD was twisting his arm.

Peter couldn't go to Tony for help, or any of the other Avengers; Fury had a nose in all their communications, and Tony had kept his identity hidden from the rest of his teammates. Police were out of the question. The only person he could go to was the one person Fury couldn't spy on.

Percy.

And if Peter had to reveal his identity to at least two people, then Percy Jackson wasn't a bad choice alongside Tony. It was pretty good, actually. If Percy really did have powers, as Peter had witnessed that night in Central Park, then maybe he could give him some tips on . . . anything. At least he'd have someone to talk to who could understand the pains of being Spider-Man. And he wouldn't have to spy on Percy anymore; the two of them could come up with some way to turn the tables on Fury.

"You wanted to talk about something?" Percy frowned, looking back at the studio where he worked. It was fortunate that Peter had remembered the address; he didn't know where Percy lived. "I've got a class to teach in a few minutes."

"Yeah, sorry, I just . . ." Peter swallowed, unsure of how to word this. _'So, is your pen really a pen? Or can it do some extra stuff, like, for example, maybe turn into a glowing sword?'_ And should he even be doing this on the sidewalk, smackdab in the middle of rush hour? Then again, it was New York. People were all kinds of crazy in this city.

Percy's eyes suddenly drifted over his shoulder to someone behind him, and he broke into a grin. "Hey! What are you doing here?"

"Percy!" A terribly familiar voice responded, passing Peter and giving Percy a high-five in greeting. The man turned to face Peter, grinning, and any words he'd been about to say suddenly jammed in his throat. Every atom in his body was yelling at him to turn tail and run. "Tony can't make it to his lesson today, but I thought I'd drop by. Who's your friend?"

Percy made the introductions. "Oh, this is Peter. Peter, this is Clint."

Clint Barton flashed a smile, sunglasses and a baseball cap covering his well-known features. "Hey, Peter."

Already beginning to backpedal, Peter could barely force his words out. "H-hi. I, uh, I really have to go. Sorry. Talk to you later, Percy?" And with a final look at the archer, Peter dashed off.

* * *

 **Percy**

Clint snorted with amusement, adjusting his cap. "Shy friend? I think I just scared him off. Sorry Percy."

Percy looked at the disappearing figure, a little thrown off by Peter's strange reaction. What had he wanted to talk about? "Don't worry about it. So, Tony can't make it, huh?"

Clint nodded, and despite his well-hidden face, Percy could still make out the lines of worry creasing around his eyes and mouth. "Unfortunately. I'm sure you've seen it on the news."

Percy nodded, not about to feign ignorance. "Why aren't you with him?"

* * *

 **Clint**

Clint gave a half smile. Straight to the important questions, not even a little bit ashamed. He'd visited the facility a few days ago to check on Wanda. He hated how the news was demonizing her, and the distress and self-hate she had expressed was worrisome for Clint. But that was it. His opinion of the Accords? He kept that to himself. "I'm not a company man. And besides, they don't need me to solve every problem." Catching the look on Percy's face, he added, "I'm retired. If I don't know where to draw the line, when will I ever stop?" He had three kids to watch grow up, a house to renovate, and . . . Laura.

That was the difference between him and Tony. Clint and Laura were old pros when it came to relationships, and they always met each other halfway. Understanding and compromise had allowed them to live a life that none of the other Avengers wanted or could imagine. After the incident with Ultron, Clint knew it was time to put down the bow and arrows, even if it was only for a few years. He missed his kids, and he missed Laura. He didn't say that aloud, though. He didn't want to divulge one of his best kept secrets: he had a family.

Clint didn't expect Percy to understand, considering how young he was. So it came as a surprise when the kid nodded, an inexplicable look of understanding on his face, as if he agreed with Clint's response. Maybe something to do with his girlfriend, Annabeth? Then he glanced back towards the studio, and when his gaze returned to Clint's, the strange look had disappeared. "So you want to come inside? Maybe help with the lesson, for old times' sake?"

Clint laughed, both of them recognizing that they had only known each other for a week. "Sure, why not?"

. . .

For the next hour, Percy and Clint terrorized the class, putting them through a wheeze-inducing round of aerobics before going through several defensive sequences. Before the hour was even done, the entire class was swaying on their feet, gasping, sweat gleaming on their faces. Many of them giving dark looks towards Clint, and one or two sly winks, they gathered their things and trudged out of the studio, into the cold evening.

"Feels like it's going to snow," Clint joked, looking out the window at the dark storm clouds that had gathered above, plunging the city into darkness, the jumbo billboards burning brightly in defiance. He swore he could see the breath billowing out from the mouths and noses of passersby, as if it were November instead of July.

Percy did not share his laugh. As he looked up at the sky, his face darkened. He muttered something. ". . . not happy."

"Hm?" Clint turned towards him. "Who's not happy?"

"The clouds don't look very happy," Percy finally joked, flashing a sideways grin. Clint could tell it was forced, however. He was clearly worried about something, and even more evidently trying to hide it.

Percy grabbed his hoodie, pulling it on and ruffling his perpetually messy hair.

Natasha would have simply gone with the flow and kept her observations to herself. Clint sometimes did that as well, but not this time. "Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing," Percy said, grabbing his pack and slinging it over one shoulder. Clint was reminded of the day at the Avengers Tower, celebrating Annabeth's birthday and Percy's plunge from the landing pad. The more they spoke, the more Clint's interest was piqued.

"Hey, k—Percy," Clint placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. At least he'd stopped himself from saying 'kid'. Despite the fact that he and Wanda were basically the same age, Clint couldn't help but feel that any protective or fatherly action towards Percy would be misplaced. Something about him just warded away the desire to express concern or offer help. Maybe it was because of his tall and muscular frame, or his strangely green eyes and the set of his jaw, or just the way he held himself. Whatever it was, Clint hesitated before he spoke. But none of that meant he couldn't reach out as a friend. He remembered when Percy had fallen into that alarming unconsciousness last week. Everybody needed a somebody. Somebody to listen. "I know we don't know each other that well, but if you've got a problem and you need someone to talk to, just say the word. I'm here."

Percy looked at his hand like he didn't know what to make of it. At least he didn't shake it off. Finally, he said, rather frankly, "I've got a problem, but I can't talk to you about it. You know what I mean?"

Clint nodded, recognizing the honesty in his words.

"But thanks man, I'll keep your offer in mind. Even though I already have a shrink." Percy's mouth twitched up. Clint had a feeling he wasn't joking. "I thought you were here for old times' sake, not to give therapy."

Clint laughed. "I did. Trust me, I wasn't planning on giving advice either. I hate those brain doctors just as much as you probably do. To be honest, I just wanted to visit the city one more time and say hi to a friend." He smiled. "I'm going water-skiing this weekend. Nathan's going to love it," he chuckled to himself. He was only a year old, and already a bundle of joy in the house.

"Nathan is . . . ?" Percy asked.

"Just a friend," Clint said smoothly. And yet, was a warm and loving look in his eyes that couldn't be missed.

Percy looked like he wanted to question him further, but stopped himself. Silently, he turned towards the door as if to leave, when he suddenly asked, "Wanna go grab a bite?"

Clint looked at him, caught off guard for a moment. Then he smiled. "Sure. I've got an hour."

"Archers first," Percy smiled, holding open the door for him. "There's a cool place a few blocks from here."

. . .

"This place ain't half bad," Clint looked around appreciatively.

The small restaurant was one of the many jewels hidden throughout the City of New York. Wedged between flashy signs and dominated by larger eateries, it was relatively quiet and had a warm, sleepy atmosphere that enveloped Clint as he walked in, pushing the storm clouds and chilly winds to the back of his mind. All the worries of the week and the tension in his shoulders seemed to just . . . roll off. Maneuvering past tables in the dimly lit room, Percy dived into one of the corner booths and sprawled across the bench, a lopsided grin on his face. Suddenly, he seemed years younger. Or maybe, Clint realized, he seemed like his actual age.

"Hey, Bobby," Percy greeted one of the servers as she approached.

Bobby smiled warmly, taking out a pen and notepad. She was in her late twenties, with long ginger hair tied back in a loose bun and a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. "Percy, it's been too long, hon. Where's Annabeth?"

"She went to California for a couple weeks," Percy explained. Neither Clint nor Bobby failed to notice the look in his eyes. He clearly missed her.

Bobby nodded empathetically. "I'm sure she'll be home soon. The usual?"

"Please, and a menu for my friend? Clint, this is Bobby. Bobby, Clint."

Bobby gave an equally welcoming smile to Clint. She seemed to be one of those people who dished out unreserved warmth to everyone she met. "Lovely to make your acquaintance. I'll be back in a moment with your menu."

"Thanks." Clint relaxed back in his seat, admiring his surroundings. The walls had been painted in a fusion of soft greens and blues, on top of which pictures of sailboats had been drawn in amazing detail along with ocean waves that arced up to the ceiling. Two surfboards were mounted on the back wall. The floor was gray and rocky, like what Clint imagined an underwater cave to be like. In the centre of the restaurant stood a small fountain, where water sprang out of the open mouths of three leaping dolphins, filling the room with a quiet murmur. The only other customers present was a couple seated next to the fountain, talking in hushed tones and laughing every so often.

"How'd you find this place?" Clint asked, a hint of amazement in his voice.

Percy shrugged, stretching his arms out against the bench. Yup, Clint couldn't ignore the change in his friend. He was far more relaxed. It was almost as if he was witnessing in real-time his guards lowering, the defensive words and looks melting away to reveal a younger and more carefree kid. And yes, with this change, Clint could call him a kid now.

"Just stumbled across it, really. Me and Annabeth had spent a day driving around the city, looking for someone, and afterwards we were so hungry." He chuckled, his eyes cast across the room, clearly recalling the memory. "We wandered around for a bit, trying to decide where to eat, and somehow ended up here." Percy looked at the walls almost fondly. "The place kinda just . . . calls to me, weird as it sounds."

"Hm," Clint accepted a menu from Bobby, nodding his thanks while still observing his friend. "Do you surf?" He certainly looked like he did, with his constantly windswept hair and tanned looks.

"Nah," Percy laughed. "I just like the water. I swim a little, when I have the time."

"I should take you water-skiing with me," Clint joked, making sure not to mention his kids.

"That'd be pretty cool," he admitted. "But I'm busy this weekend. Maybe next time?"

"Deal." Clint promised. He noticed a strange look cross Percy's face. "What?"

Percy thanked Bobby as she served a plate of fish and chips, alongside a burger. "You seem like a pretty stand-up guy." Clint was tempted to say 'thanks', but stayed quiet. "How'd you end up working with people like Tony Stark? How'd you end up being an Avenger?"

"You mean, what makes me so special?"

"Well, when you put it like that . . . yeah." Percy said, unabashed.

Clint shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond. "I'm just a guy with a bow."

Percy accepted his short answer without complaint. "Why 'Hawkeye'?"

"20/20 vision?" Clint joked. That, and the fact that he was good at watching people. Tracking them, reading their faces. And right now, he was watching the food piled high on Percy's plate slowly but surely dwindle. Damn, this kid knew how to plow through a burger. Despite the fact that he was already a couple inches taller than Clint, it was evident he still had some height to grow into. He wouldn't be surprised if the kid surpassed six feet soon. "My turn. What's so special about that string of beads around your neck?"

Percy slowly chewed through the last of his burger, swallowing. "What makes you think it's special?"

"Both you and Annabeth wear similar ones. Never seen you without it." And the worn texture of the string bespoke years of age. But Clint didn't say that aloud.

"That's why you're called Hawkeye," Percy said, finally understanding.

Clint leaned back in his bench. "Guilty as charged."

"It's just a couple of beads thrown together. Annabeth and I collected them over the years," Percy explained. "Little things that meant something to us."

"So what's the black one mean? You like green forks?"

Percy snorted with laughter. "'Green forks'? No, I prefer blue. And it's . . . well, it's a trident, actually."

"A _trident_?" Clint blinked. "What does a trident mean to you?" He recalled the background report he'd pulled on Percy before inviting him to the Tower. Raised by his mother, his father lost . . . at sea. Didn't a trident have something to do with water? Something tugged at his mind, but he couldn't remember why.

Percy shrugged. "Like I said, it's just little things."

Before Clint could investigate further, Bobby returned with his order. Thanking her, Clint bit into his burger, thoughts whizzing through his mind. As friendly as this meeting had been, it was evident that their conversation was going nowhere. He couldn't talk family or Avenger business with Percy, and Percy clearly wasn't willing to share much with Clint. Which wouldn't bother him so much if they had something else in common. Right now, it felt a bit like when Clint had interacted with foreign agents on behalf of SHIELD in the past; both parties had valuable intelligence and an order to play nicely, but no tangible reason to do so. Not that Clint had an urge to punch Percy in the face like he had with that Czech operative, but still, there was some strange wall between them. Which was unfortunate, considering he actually liked the kid.

He decided to try a slightly different line of questioning. "How'd you meet Annabeth? You guys seem pretty close."

Instantly, a smile surfaced on Percy's face. Clint couldn't mistake the look on his face; this kid was head over heels in love. Not some kind of crush or high school fling, but the serious, I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-her kind of love. It was a love that Clint didn't find until he was in his twenties, and met Laura.

"We met each other at this summer thing," Percy started, the smile still lighting his face.

"Love at first sight?" Clint guessed.

The kid laughed. "More like hate at first sight. Could barely stand me, avoided me when she could."

"Why?"

"I'm an acquired taste?" Percy joked. "Our . . . our parents didn't like each other, either. But we got better over the years. I think I fell for her first," he admitted. "And now we're planning on going to college together. We've been planning this upcoming year for the last . . . year, really."

"College in California, right?" Clint recalled last week.

Percy's eyes strayed towards the front windows. Outside, the formidable storm front had somehow darkened even further. "Yup. I . . ." A look of surprise suddenly flitted across his face.

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy had just been looking for an hour of peace. Light conversation and good food with a friend—was that too much to ask for? Apparently yes, because there was a naiad standing outside the restaurant, her blue-green eyes peering inside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was wearing a long green rain jacket and jeans, her chestnut hair seeming to ripple over her shoulders. When she saw Percy, she beamed and gestured for him to come outside.

Clint frowned, following his gaze to the window. "Is that a friend of yours?"

"Uh, yeah, I just remembered I was supposed to meet her today," Percy said quickly. "Like, right now. I'm really sorry Clint . . ." He turned back towards the naiad for a moment, trying to mentally convey that it was be a really bad idea if she came inside. She just waved back at him, still beaming. He hoped she didn't dissipate into a puddle; he really wasn't in the mood to test the bounds of the Mist at this moment.

"Yeah, no worries, kid," Clint assured him. "I've got to head home, as well."

"Thanks, man," Percy grabbed some cash from his pocket and slapped it on the table. "Rain check on the water-skiing?"

"I've got a long memory," Clint tapped the side of his head, grinning.

"Have fun with your family."

"I don't have a family."

Percy snorted. "Yeah, and Nathan's 'just a friend'."

An almost pained expression crossed Clint's face, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he said, "Yeah, known him for 14 years. We're almost like brothers. Too bad we aren't."

Percy didn't push him. If he didn't want to talk about his family, that was fine by him. He had to get going. Bidding goodbye to Clint and Bobby, he almost dashed out of the restaurant. As he stepped outside, the warm and comforting atmosphere of the diner was washed away by the dark and cold weather. Overhead, the sky glared down at him angrily. Lightning flashed in the distance. Percy sighed. One hour of peace. Just one. He loved that restaurant; it reminded him of the Poseidon cabin, but in the mortal world.

"Lord Poseidon always loved this place." The naiad beamed. "Even though this city stinks like rotten seaweed."

Percy turned towards the naiad, quickly steering her away from the restaurant and down the street. She smelled of fresh water. "Yeah, because he and my mom had their only dinner here. I've heard the story a dozen times." Looking for a quiet place to speak, he finally stopped them in an alleyway next to an apartment. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

The naiad raised an eyebrow and Percy was reminded of Rachel Dare. This water nymph was just as sassy. "I was told that the favourite son of the sea god was much kinder to naiads than many of his relatives. Did I fall for a lie? How about, 'hello, how are you doing?' or 'I don't think we've met, what's your name?'"

Percy sighed. "I'm sorry. I just wasn't . . . expecting anyone."

"Hmph," the naiad crossed her arms. "Well, apology accepted. Mostly."

Percy stopped himself from saying _'thanks'_. "So . . . what's your name?"

"Lily." The naiad beamed.

"Okay, not to be rude," he said carefully, "but why exactly do you want to talk to me? Did my dad send you?"

Lily sniffed. "Your father? My sisters and I may respect him, but you know as well as we do that naiads do not serve in Lord Poseidon's court. Speaking of which—" the naiad looked down the alley and back out onto the street. "I should speak quickly. Our cousins are rather angry with us right now."

"Cousins? You mean, the Nereids?" Percy remembered, referring to the naiads' saltwater counterparts.

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "They aren't happy with our choice to join Querci and the rest of our sisters."

Percy suddenly understood what this was about. "You were sent here by Querci, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Why . . . why would you join her?" He shook his head, struggling to understand her position. "You're not even—you're not even a dryad. What she wants—"

"Don't tell me what's good for me and what isn't," Lily snapped. Her eyes softened. "I don't enjoy it. I miss the lake. I miss flirting with those Aphrodite boys. But they are my sisters, my family. Dryad or _aurae_ or satyr," she glared at Percy. "I can't say no to them. And besides, when have we ever had such comfort and security? While nymphs like the Nereids or those senseless followers of Lord Dionysus have the protection of the gods, the rest of us suffer," she looked up at the dark, stormy sky. "Not me, perhaps. I was fortunate to live within the boundaries of Camp Half-Blood. But my other sisters across the country? They certainly suffered." She said quietly. "Only together can we can protect one another."

Percy didn't know what to say to comfort her or counter her words. Everything was true, and it sounded ugly to his ears. Horrible, ugly truths.

The naiad placed a hand on his arm, a look of understanding on her face. "Don't pity us, demigod. Respect us. As we have respected you."

Percy resisted shaking her hand off. "That's what Querci wants to tell me?"

"No," she took her hand away. "She received your Iris Messages, though she refused to accept them. We are stepping away from the services of the gods, even from those as neutral as Lady Iris. She would like to meet tomorrow night, in the mortals' park where you first encountered one another, and negotiate a new demigod-wild spirits relationship. She knows you are speaking to that disruptive beast, Thor," the naiad wrinkled her nose. "She wants him to be present. You and the daughter of Athena are required to come, as well. Bring whomever else you wish."

"That's it? No executions or trials?" Percy asked. "I don't have to give her my head on a platter?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, demigod."

"I'll be there," Percy promised. For some reason, he recalled Grover in that moment, and stepped towards the naiad even as she was walking away. "And tell her . . . tell her that we want friendship. We don't want to fight."

The naiad gave a sad smile. "None of us do. Some of us miss you as much as you miss us. Tell that satyr friend of yours: 'I love you,'. From a juniper bush dryad."

"I will," Percy promised.

The naiad gave a genuine smile, and then evaporated into a fine mist that was quickly whisked away, back in the direction of Central Park.

. . .

"Holy crap, did she just disintegrate?"

Percy whipped around so fast he almost got whiplash. He simultaneously reached into pocket, only to realize he didn't have his jacket on. He cursed. He must've left it in the restaurant. And Riptide had been in his jacket pocket . . .

The young, incredulous voice continued. "And dude, did you just talk to a ghost?"

Percy looked up the side of the apartment building, and saw a blue-and-red figure perched on the edge of the fire escape. That's right. _Perched._ Like some kind of nimble gymnast . . . or spider.

"Wait," Percy pointed a finger at the figure. "You're Spider-Man."

"Hey, thanks man!" The man swung his legs like a child, as if unworried whether or not he might slip and fall 16 feet to the concrete below. "It's nice to be recognized."

An alarming thought suddenly struck Percy. "'Disintegrate'? You saw her evaporate? How—how long have you been sitting there? How much did you hear?" He asked, his voice hardening. In his pants pocket, he felt Riptide return.

"Whoa, look, I didn't mean to eavesdrop!" The vigilante raised his hands in innocence. "I just thought I'd wait until you left the restaurant. I really need to talk to you, Percy."

"You've been _stalking_ me?" Percy took a step back as the rest of his words sunk in. _I really need to talk to you,_ _ **Percy**_. He pulled Riptide out of his pocket, uncapping it. The weapon grew into 3 feet of deadly celestial bronze. He pointed it the man. "Who are you?"

"Holy crap, your pen really does turn into a glowing sword!" The vigilante seemed to have a seizure, standing up and waving his hands around in excitement.

"I said, _who are you_?"

"What? Wait, no!" The man held his hands out in front of him. "It's . . . it's me." With a furtive glance up and down the dark alley, he grasped the neck of his costume and pulled the mask off.

Percy blinked. "You're just a kid." Then he did a double take. No way. Maybe his eyes were still adjusting to the dark. That couldn't be . . . " _Peter?_ "

"The secret's out," Peter Parker sighed, leaning back against the side of the apartment. "Look, I really need your help with something. Or someone, actually. And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about . . . this," he waved his hand at the red and blue costume.

Percy lowered Riptide. "I'd say the same to you. Look, I don't know what—"

"Percy! There you are," Clint Barton suddenly turned into the alley, something in his hand. "You forgot your jacket."

"I . . ." Percy looked at Clint, then back up at the fire escape. Peter was nowhere to be seen. "Thanks. Was just dropping off my friend at her apartment." He noticed Clint look at Riptide, and resisted the urge to stow the weapon back in his pocket. He hoped not all superheroes were clear sighted. "She likes baseball," he lied, accepting the jacket.

Clint hesitated, looking at the sword/baseball bat with a strange expression, before seeming to accept the image that the Mist was presenting him and nodding. "Your wallet's in there, and your phone. I gotta head home—see you later, kid!" He ran back out, pulling his cap lower on his face.

When Percy was sure he was gone, he looked back up at the fire escape. Still empty. In the distance, the first rumbles of thunder shook the air.

"Look, Peter," Percy started, hoping that the kid was still around, hanging somewhere in the shadows. "I don't know what your deal is, but I'm insanely busy for the next few days. If you need to talk, I'm sure you know where to find me." _Or stalk me_ , Percy thought. Then he left the alley, hurrying to hail a taxi back to Long Island Sound.

. . .

When Percy returned to Long Island Sound, he realized that the storm clouds that had gathered over the city had also settled above Camp. His initial suspicions were correct: this storm wasn't natural. Zeus was angry. And Percy was pretty sure he knew why.

He found Thor at the campfire, telling an apparently fascinating story to a crowd of young demigods clustered around him. Farther off, several senior campers were having a hushed conversation with Chiron.

". . . he can't stay here for much longer." Malcolm said, looking at Thor grimly before looking back up at the sky.

"So we kick him out?" Clarisse asked, raising an eyebrow. "As much as I hate Prissy's plan, it's the best we have so far."

"Agreed," Will said. His arm was thrown around Nico's shoulder, to the demigod's chagrin. "It's not even half-assed, like the majority of his plans are. Maybe quarter-assed."

"So we test the gods' anger, see how long we can push their patience?" Malcolm asked. "That's even stupider. Thor doesn't need to be involved; the root of the problem is us. The wild spirits have a problem with _us_."

"Malcolm is right," Katie nodded. "We're already trying to cope with the loss of the dryads; we don't need the gods angry at us, as well. If this storm hits camp, we'll lose the strawberries and our summer income will be cut in half."

"He's not leaving," Percy said, coming up next to Chiron, who nodded at him in greeting. "A naiad gave me a message while I was downtown. Querci wants to meet in Central Park tomorrow night. And she wants Thor to be there, along with me and Annabeth, to negotiate a new 'demigod-wild spirit' relationship."

"But . . . Annabeth's in California." Travis said.

"Obviously," Connor rolled his eyes. "So we'll just call her up. Ask her to come back, for a day."

"She's going to find out about this, one way or another," Travis pointed out when he saw the hesitation on Percy's face.

"But not right now," Percy argued. "She doesn't need to come. Thor and I will be there, and maybe one or two others. That's more than enough." After keeping the conflict hidden from her for so long, Percy didn't want to waste his efforts now. She was living out her dream; he wasn't going to ruin it, if he could help it.

Clarisse shrugged. "Fine. You're the one who will have to face her when she gets back."

"We should decide who else is going to this meeting," Nico said.

"People who are good at negotiating," Will added.

Nobody pointed out that Annabeth was likely the best demigod for the job.

After a moment's pause, everybody looked at Piper, who shook her head. "Not me. You saw how she reacted when I tried to talk to her last week."

"Yeah, you're not her biggest fan," Leo agreed. Piper glared at him.

"One or two people from the other camp might want to come, too." Clarisse suggested. "Chelsea from the Fifth Cohort said that the majority of fauns and _aurae_ have left."

"Jason is coming back tomorrow," Piper offered. "I think he'd like to join."

"Okay, so Thor, Jason and Percy?" Travis said. "The magic number."

"Three is preferred," Chiron agreed. "Even if this is not a quest."

"Everyone in favour?" Clarisse asked. Each of the head counsellors nodded. "It's decided. Great, time for some sleep."

"And someone please tell Mr. Odinson to maintain a degree of responsibility with his stories." Chiron added. "His audience has yet to enter junior high."

Percy looked back at the campfire, catching excited and grossed-out looks on the young faces of the demigods ringed around the Asgardian.

"Alright, children." Travis wandered over to the group. "Nobody's stabbing anybody," he said, giving a pointed look at one of the Nike girl.

"Time for bed," Connor added, swiping a knife off an Ares kid and tucking it into his back pocket.

The rest of the senior campers dispersed for their respective cabins.

* * *

 **Leo**

Waking up to an unfamiliar _pitter-patter_ outside on Wednesday morning, Leo staggered out of bed, his hair sticking in all directions, his clothes rumpled. He opened the door, a frown on his face. "I swear, if one more person is forging at freaking 6 am in the morning . . . " Then his sleepy eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. "Aw smoked firepants, this is not good."

The day started with rain.

* * *

 **Ta-da! Next chapter will hopefully be posted tomorrow. I still have one or two passages to add.**

 **Constructive criticism via PMs and reviews are welcome!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Responses to reviews:**

 **Achievement** : Yup, everything is building up to one grand finale. The first of many, hopefully ;) I was actually so excited to write these two chapters, I've literally been planning for this day for an entire year. The suspense as a reader is painful, the suspense as a writer is equally painful, haha. I may have two or three more characters to add, but yes, I know where you're going. I can feel the strain of trying to attend to so many characters - they're very high maintenance, haha. I never planned to have such a big cast, but it just grew and grew . . .

 **Guestz** : Hi! Thnx for dropping a review! Yes, I'm aware of my wayward POV, haha. Sometimes, it's just a mistake on my part, but the other times, I do it intentionally. It helps with continuity and fluidity - introducing another POV just to consider a single thought is oftentimes too tedious and disruptive, and so I do away with the technicalities. But thank you for pointing that out; I'll try to keep the stray thoughts to a minimum :)

 **Guest (June 4th)** : Yes, Strange actually will be a part of this story! I don't know when I'll be introducing him, but it is guaranteed :)

 **Guest (June 2nd)** : Thank you! I hope you enjoy this newest chapter :)

 **Giulia** : Oh, gosh, your wrist is broken and you're still typing? That is dedication - please get better soon! Your praise goes straight to the heart, thank you :) And Fury . . . well, he's a spy after all. Never know what he could do . . . I don't even really know what he's going to do, if I'm to be entirely honest, haha. I do lots of planning for future important events, but fine and finer details remain pretty foggy and unknown. It's the curse and gift that comes with this format of writing.


	30. Civil War: The End is Nigh

**Okay, it's 3 AM in the morning, so I technically took more than a day. But . . . ta-da! Part 2 of the update. So excited to be releasing it - I've literally been planning this for a year, along with some more stuff to come in future chapters.**

 **For those just noticing my updates, this is PART 2. I RELEASED A CHAPTER YESTERDAY, as well. Please read it, if you haven't yet. This chapter won't make sense otherwise.**

 **I can't say when the next update will happen; I basically poured my heart into this one. I'll say tentatively in the next month, and cross my fingers. Maybe I'll come up with another two gigantic chapters!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **The End is Nigh**

Waking up to an unfamiliar _pitter-patter_ outside, Leo staggered out of bed, his hair sticking in all directions, his clothes rumpled. He opened the door, a frown on his face. "I swear, if one more person is forging at freaking 6 am in the morning . . . " Then his sleepy eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. "Holy smoked firepants, this is not good."

The day started with rain.

Not a drizzle, nor a howling thunderstorm, but a constant, cold downpour that seeped into the bones and left everything uncomfortably wet.

Campers went about breakfast and their morning activities in a subdued tone, worried faces looking up at the dark and gloomy sky. Not a single ray of sunlight pierced the thick stormfront, leaving the Apollo cabin unusually desolate and melancholic. The majority of the cabin accidently slept in, and the Ares kids took advantage of their delayed slumber with glee. It wasn't until Nico stepped in, his wet hair plastered to his head and his temper short, that the demigods scattered, leaving behind splatters of red paint dissolving in the heavy rain.

. . .

 **Percy**

Percy woke up disorientated, a nervous energy making him fidget more than usual as he pulled on a sweater and stepped out into the cold and not entirely surprising rain. His shoes sunk slightly in the muddy ground, but he barely noticed. He was preoccupied by the dream he'd just had.

Well, he couldn't really call it a dream. More of a bad feeling, really. Similar to the dread he'd often woken up to last year, when his anxiety levels were high after the war and returning from Tartarus. Maybe it was just the mood of the gods that was putting him on edge. He could feel the turbulence of the ocean, even from here. Zeus wasn't the only one that was angry. But Poseidon hadn't visited him in Camp or in his dreams, and Percy wasn't about to pray to his dad and ask what his problem was.

He skipped breakfast, heading straight to the Big House. Chiron was standing outside, his hooves muddy and his chestnut coat dull and wet.

Percy winced, feeling guilty. Being the son of Poseidon and all, he was likely the only demigod in the camp who wasn't drenched to the bone. But that wasn't what he wanted to speak to Chiron about. He couldn't stop thinking about Peter. The kid had seen him talking to the naiad. Was he a clear sighted mortal? Or secretly a demigod playing vigilante? Percy could only hope that he didn't go around telling other people, or even fellow 'superheroes', about what he'd seen.

"What is it, Percy?" Chiron asked quietly, sensing his mood.

"I . . . someone saw me talking to Querci's messenger yesterday." Percy finally said aloud.

Chiron tilted his head. "A mortal?"

"Maybe. I think so. It was that superhero, the one who's been hanging around the city. Spider-Man."

The centaur didn't seem angry. Instead, he sighed, still looking at the sky. "Every year, there are more and more of these individuals. I can only give you a word of caution around them, Percy. Be careful. We've yet to have an encounter, but it is only a matter of time. And before that moment comes, it is impossible to tell for certain whether they are 'friend' material or . . . otherwise."

"I know," Percy responded. And he meant it. He was finally beginning to understand. For the past week, he'd talked to the entire team of the Avengers, hung out in their _home_ , eaten alongside them . . . and sure, he'd felt apprehensive. Nervous about having his identity revealed. But that uneasiness was nothing compared to the dread he'd felt last night, unexpectedly encountering both Peter and Clint when his guard had been down. He'd been playing with fire for the last several days, but he was only realizing it now. As nice and welcoming as these people appeared, Percy really didn't know them. Maybe one side of them. As civilians, and normal people who did mostly normal things. But he had never come face-to-face with that other side. The one that involved arming themselves with guns and knives and suits of armor. When he thought about that side, he could feel himself slip into a different frame of mind, the one that assessed battle situations and differentiated allies from foes. Because these people had the potential to pose a serious threat to the demigod world, if they wanted to.

But maybe that's where he and Annabeth came in. Chiron was probably right, as he always was. It was only a matter of time before these enhanced mortals stumbled across their world. It didn't hurt to get on their good side now, establish friendships and some early memories, and ensure that they didn't mistake them for some strange and evil shadow organization and shoot them the first chance they got.

Percy tucked his hands into his sweater pocket, his fingers beginning to turn numb in the cold. "Wish they could just tell us why they were angry," he muttered, looking at the sky. Even if they could already guess the reason.

"In their own time," Chiron said quietly.

* * *

 **Steve**

"'Bird 'costume'?" Sam read the receipt drawn up for storing his suit, clearly offended.

"I didn't write it," Sharon raised her hands.

Just outside the room, Bucky's psychiatric evaluation was beginning on the screens. Tony and Natasha were watching. With a slight glance around her, Sharon unrestricted the screen inside, allowing Steve and Sam to listen, as well.

 _". . . I'm not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions,"_ the psychiatrist began in the interrogation room. He had a European accent, but his back was turned towards the security camera. _"Do you know where you are, James?"_

Barnes didn't respond.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

Steve was flipping through the photos that were supposedly Bucky, right after he had bombed the UN building in Vienna. "Why would task force release this photo to begin with?"

Sharon shrugged. "Get the word out and involve as many eyes as we can."

"Right." Steve nodded, frowning. "It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken, and get 7 billion people looking for the Winter Soldier."

"You're saying someone framed him to find him," Sharon said slowly.

"Dude, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing." Sam said, not following his logic.

"We didn't bomb the UN." Steve pointed out.

 _"Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"_ The psychiatrist continued on screen.

Bucky was glaring at him. _"I don't want to talk about it."_

 _"You feel that . . . if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop."_ The psychiatrist said quietly. _"Don't worry."_

No one saw it coming. One moment, Steve was trying to figure out why Bucky had been set up. The next, an EMP blast was rocking through the facility, plunging everything into darkness. Emergency lights flickered on, washing everything in red.

"Come on guys, get me eyes on Barnes!" Everett Ross, the American working with the counter terrorism centre (no relation to Thaddeus Ross, fortunately), spoke quickly into a walkie talkie.

Tony was already on the move, Natasha right beside him. "Friday, get me a source on that outage."

Steve looked about ready to turn over every stone in the facility, when Sharon came to the rescue. "Sublevel 5, east wing."

Steve bolted for the elevators, Sam on his heels. By the time they got to the floor, Bucky was nowhere to be seen, but security personnel were already scattered on the floor, incapacitated or dead. Steve was about to check on them, when he heard a voice further down the hall.

"Help me. Help."

It was the psychiatrist. He lay on the ground, shattered glass from Bucky's prison covering the floor.

Steve wasn't fooled. He strode towards him, grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him against the wall. "Who are you?" He demanded. "What do you want?"

The man's façade fell and his face hardened. "To see an empire fall."

There was a crash and Steve turned to see Bucky emerging from the shadows, catching Sam by surprise. The ex-paratrooper held his own for a moment, before he was thrown across the room, striking the wall with a grunt. Steve blocked Bucky before he could continue his assault, fending off punches from the man's metal arm. It was evident that this wasn't his friend right now; the psychiatrist had done something to turn him into a mindless killing machine. Their fight moved down the hallway, before Steve took a heavy hit from Bucky and was sent tumbling down the elevator shaft.

. . .

Several levels above, an evacuation was being ordered. Tony and Natasha were hurrying out to intercept Bucky, before he could wreak more damage.

"Please tell me you brought your suit," Natasha muttered as they quickly strode past room after room.

"Sure did, it's a lovely Tom Ford 3-piece, 2-button," Tony said sarcastically. "I'm an active duty, non-combatant."

Sharon suddenly ran past them. "Follow me!"

The trio found Bucky in the cafeteria, plowing through security and armed operatives like they were flies. Peeking around the corner of a pillar, Tony activated his watch, pulling a metal glove over his hand that mimicked the hand portion of his Iron Man suit. Rushing out to meet Bucky, he regretted wearing the suit and tie. Randomly, he recalled Percy's annoyed voice from his defence lessons: _Who fights in a dress shirt and dress pants?_

He dodged a punch thrown by Bucky's freaking metal arm. For a moment, he praised himself. The boxing and defence lessons really had paid off. Then he was thrown across a table. Crashing painfully into the ground, Tony groaned. Who was he kidding? He was no Bruce Lee.

Sharon and Natasha attempted to stop him, but only slowed the man down for a few seconds. Leaving them gasping on the floor and on the tables, Bucky strode up the stairs, clearly in no rush. T'Challa, dressed in black but not that of his Black Panther suit, intercepted him, but was quickly given the slip after trading several blows.

It wasn't until Bucky was leaving in a helicopter that Steve brought his escape to an end. Crashing the aircraft into the roof of the building before both men, along with the helicopter, fell into the reservoir below, Steve eventually surfaced again, an unconscious Bucky in tow.

. . .

Sam and Steve stole a car and took Bucky to the outskirts of Berlin, far beyond the radius of the armed task forces that were surely looking for them. They found an abandoned warehouse, pieces of machinery still inside.

It wasn't long before Bucky woke up.

Despite the massive industrial vice that they had secured Bucky's metal arm with, Sam and Steve kept their distance.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked, his voice hard.

Bucky looked at him through bleary eyes, his hair still wet from their plunge in the water. He looked like a man who had gotten drunk and high the night before, and was slowly regaining his grasp of reality. If only it were that simple. "Your mom's name was Sarah," he said slowly, quietly. He suddenly gave a small chuckle. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

A huge burden seemed to be lifted off of Steve's shoulders. "Can't read that in a museum."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Just like that we're supposed to be cool?"

Bucky swallowed. "What did I do?"

"Enough." Steve said.

Bucky groaned, bowing his head. "I knew this would happen. Everything Hydra put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words."

"Who was he?" Steve asked.

"I don't know."

"People are dead. The bombing, the set up. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than 'I don't know'."

A frown rose up on Bucky's face. His eyebrows creased as he sorted through his scattered memories. "He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?"

Bucky swallowed. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

The story that he proceeded to tell Steve and Sam was beyond their worst imagination. They could only listen with growing dread as Bucky explained how he killed a man and woman for the serum stored in the trunk of their car. As he described a dozen other military men and women, subjected to the same experiments as himself.

"Who are they?" Steve asked.

"The most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in Hydra history. And that was before the serum."

Sam crossed his arms. "They all turn out like you?"

"Worse." Bucky said quietly.

Steve pursed his lips, thinking hard. "The doctor. Could he control them?"

The look on Bucky's face said everything. "Enough."

Steve nodded, beginning to understand. "Said he wanted to see an empire fall."

"With these guys, he could do it," Bucky said, confirming their worst fears. "They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night and you'd never see them coming."

Sam walked over to Steve, turning away from Bucky. "This would have been a lot easier a week ago," he said quietly.

Steve sighed. "If we call Tony . . ."

"No, he won't believe us."

"Even if he did—"

"Who knows if the Accords would let him help."

Steve nodded, realizing their dire situation. "We're on our own."

A strange look crossed Sam's face. "Maybe not."

Steve looked at him questioningly.

"I know a guy."

* * *

 **Avengers Facility**

Tuesday night, Wanda and Vision sat silently in one of the dining rooms, not talking to one another. What was there to talk about? Vision had her on house arrest, and she couldn't talk him out of it. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to. After all, she was responsible for death and destruction. She feared what she would do if she ever went out again. Perhaps it was better this way.

Suddenly, through the window, Wanda noticed a plume of fire light up the forest outside. She and Vision stood.

"What is it?" Wanda asked.

"Stay here, please," Vision said quietly. He phased through the window, going out to investigate.

Suddenly alone in the room, Wanda sensed a presence behind her and whipped around, throwing her hands up. The knife laying on the cutting board in the kitchen shot across the room, stopping millimetres before Clint's face.

Clint grinned, pushing the blade away. "Guess I should've knocked."

"Oh my god," Wanda looked at him, realizing how close she had been to killing her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Disappointing my kids," Clint walked past her, pulling out two arrows and shooting them individually towards the opposite sides of the room. "Supposed to go waterskiing." He grabbed her hand, starting to hurry out of the room. "Cap needs our help, come on."

"Clint!" Vision's voice started behind them. He had returned to the facility. "You should not be here."

Clint stopped, slowly turning around. Beside him, Wanda looked between her two friends. "Really? I retire for what, like 5 minutes, and it all goes to shit."

"Please consider the consequences of your actions," Vision said quietly, approaching them.

Clint tilted his head, barely pausing before he said, "Okay, they're considered."

An electric field suddenly arced between the two arrows that Clint had launched, catching Vision in the middle and stopping him in his tracks.

"Okay, we gotta go," Clint said, turning and running. Only to reach the end of the room and find that Wanda had not moved from her spot. He pointed to the door. "It-it's this way."

Wanda bowed her head, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself. "I've caused enough problems."

Clint sighed, hurrying back to her side. "You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you want to mope, go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass." He suddenly looked over her shoulder, his face hardening. "Shit."

There was an explosion of sparks, and the force field that had been holding Vision suddenly dissipated. Clint immediately fired an arrow, but it flew harmlessly through Vision's body and struck the window behind him.

Clint gritted his teeth, extending a baton. "I knew I should've stretched." At least he'd helped with Percy's defence lesson.

Leaping forward, he slashed at Vision's head, but the weapon just went through again. It was no use. His punches felt like they were landing on metal—which they technically were—and his baton shattered on the third blow. Staggering back, he could only struggle as Vision caught him in a headlock.

" _Clint_." Vision seemed to snap at him, almost annoyed with his futile efforts. "You can't overpower me."

"I know I can't," Clint growled, through his restricted windpipe. He looked at Wanda. "But she can."

Vision blinked, looking towards his friend. She had a glowing, red sphere of energy revolving in her hands, just waiting to be released.

. . .

 **Wanda**

The look on Vision's face was one of mild confusion. Wanda couldn't blame him; she had felt nothing but confusion the last several days. Who was she? _What_ was she? Was she such a terrible monster that she could kill over a dozen people in the blink of an eye? In the last week, she had never feared anyone or anything as much as she feared herself. She was a ticking time bomb. Every move, every word had to be said with care and monitored with caution. Under Tony's house arrest, she had convinced herself that the world was right. She was dangerous, and needed to be controlled.

At least, that's what she'd thought.

She looked at Vision with an uncompromising expression, the energy in her hand arcing and vibrating. "Vision, that's enough. Let him go. I'm leaving."

"I can't let you."

Wanda widened her arms, manipulating the energy and causing the stone on Vision's forehead to glow red. A near unconscious Clint slipped from his grasp as his body was suddenly forced into transparency. Against his will, he was slowly pushed to his knees, the marble floor beneath him cracking with the force of Wanda's powers. Ropes of red energy began to coalesce around him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Vision could only look at her helplessly, as if he wanted her to understand. "If you do this, they will never stop being afraid of you."

But Wanda already understood. The world didn't know her better than she did, and they couldn't convince her otherwise. Let them be scared. As she had told Annabeth so many days ago, when the girl had admitted that she feared her powers: _. . . If one of those scared people decides to speak to me, despite their fear, then they're not like all of the other scared people, yes?_

Maybe, in the future, everybody would acknowledge their fears and embrace Wanda nevertheless. But Wanda wasn't going to wait until then. She hoped Vision would understand. If not now, then someday.

"I can't control their fear," Wanda said, her voice trembling from the exertion of her powers. "Only my own."

And with one final thrust of her hands, she drove Vision into the floor and through several dozen feet of concrete, soil and clay.

"Oh . . ." Clint looked down at the deep hole she had created, before he started to jog away. "Come on. We've got one more stop."

* * *

 **Steve**

Trying to maintain a low profile, Steve managed to get an old, faded car from Sharon on Wednesday morning. She also returned his and Sam's equipment. It was likely the last time she would help them; after all, they were considered terrorists now. Sharing a kiss with her only made him feel more confused, but he put it all behind him when he, Sam and Bucky met with Clint and Wanda at the Leipzig/Halle Airport parking lot.

Stepping away from a white van, Clint greeted him, shaking hands. "Cap."

"You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice."

"Hey man, you're doing me a favour. Besides, I owe a debt," he looked at Wanda.

Steve followed his gaze to the kid, Sam coming up behind him. Bucky lurked around next to the car, clearly feeling out of place in the reunion. "Thanks for having my back."

"It was time to get off my ass," Wanda said, a small smile on her face.

"How about our other recruit?" Steve asked.

Clint grinned, returning to the van. "He's ready to go! I put a little coffee in him, but . . ." He slid open the door with a loud bang, and the man inside woke up with a start. "He should be good."

Struggling out of the van on wobbly legs and squinting his eyes against the sun, Scott Lang frowned, finally making it out onto the concrete. "What time zone is this?"

He suddenly caught sight of Steve, and an expression of wonder and excitement took over his sleep-ridden face. He grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously. "Captain America!"

"Mr. Lang," Steve responded, slightly bemused.

"I'm shaking your hand too long!" Scott beamed, looking around at the company present. He finally let go. "Wow, this is awesome! Captain America!" He looked at Wanda. "I know you too, you're great!"

Wanda managed a half-smile, the man's excitement both laughable and off-putting.

Scott barely noticed. He grabbed Steve's shoulders, clearly noting his physique. "Jeez. Uh, look, I want to say, I know you know a lot of superpeople, so . . . thanks for thinking of me."

He finally noticed Sam. "Hey man!"

Sam crossed his arms and gave a slight nod. "What's up, tic-tac?"

"Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time . . ."

"It was a great audition," Sam interrupted Scott before he could spill anything else, shaking his head and giving a light laugh. "But, it'll—it'll never happen again."

"He tell you what we're up against?" Steve asked.

"Something about some . . . psycho-assassins?" Scott recalled.

Steve nodded. "We're outside the law on this one, so if you come with us, you're a wanted man."

Scott shrugged, resigned to his fate. "Yeah, well, what else is new?"

"We should get moving!" Bucky said, still standing by the car.

"We got a chopper lined up," Clint nodded. The plan was simple: fly to Siberia, and take care of the other Winter Soldiers before that unknown doctor gained controlled over them and caused a global catastrophe.

Alarms suddenly sounded throughout the airport, and a voice was projected from multiple speakers throughout the facility. "Dies ist eine Notsituation. Alle Passagiere müssen den Flughafen sofort evakuieren."

"They're evacuating the airport," Bucky said, translating.

"Stark," Sam guessed.

"Stark?" Scott repeated. He suddenly sounded much less enthusiastic.

Steve looked at everyone. "Suit up."

. . .

Steve went out first. Looking left and right, he ran for the black chopper sitting on the helipad, alone and untouched. Then there was a whizzing sound as a small device attached itself to the base of the helicopter blades, sending sparks flying from the engine and likely putting the aircraft out of commission.

The familiar blast of repulsors sounded from above, and two metal suits dropped down from the sky, landing heavily on the helipad.

"Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport," Tony said, the mask retracting from around his head, revealing a black eye, courtesy of Bucky. "Don't you think that's weird?"

Rhodes looked at him, his mask still on. "Definitely weird."

"Hear me out, Tony—" Steve started.

There was a thump, and Steve turned to his right to see the Black Panther leaping into view. He straightened. "Captain." His voice was muffled and significantly deeper because of his suit.

"Your highness." Steve greeted him.

"Anyways." Tony started again. "Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

Steve shook his head. "You're after the wrong guy."

"Your judgment is askew," Tony shot back. "Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday."

"And there are five more super soldiers just like him," Steve said, trying to convince his friend. "I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't."

Behind him, Natasha approached. "Steve . . . you know what's about to happen. Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?"

The look on Steve's face said everything.

"All right, I've run out of patience," Tony sighed. "Underoos!"

Thick webbing suddenly struck Steve's shield, pulling it off his arm and into the hands of a blue and red figure. The lithe stranger completed a flip through the air, landing on top of the chopper.

"Nice job, kid." Tony complimented.

"Thanks!" The young man straightened. "I could have stuck the landing a little better, but—"

Tony interrupted him. "Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation."

"Okay. Cap-Captain. Big fan. I'm Spider-Man."

Steve didn't need to be told. He recognized the vigilante who had been swinging around New York for the last few months. "You've been busy."

"And you've been a complete _idiot_." Tony turned his attention back on him. "Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave—a safe place. I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you signed."

Tony's face hardened. "Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. Now! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite. Come on."

Sam's voice suddenly came alive in Steve's ear-piece. "We found it. Their quinjet's in hangar five, north runway."

Steve immediately held up his hands. An arrow flew 100 feet from one of the higher levels of the parking garage and through the webbing that bound Steve's hands. At the same time, Scott Lang made himself known on the shield, enlarging to his normal size and catching Spider-Man off guard.

Rhodes blinked. "Whoa. Wh-what the hell was that?"

"I believe this is yours, Captain America," Scott returned the shield to Steve.

"Oh, great," Tony muttered. "Alright, there's two on the parking deck," he reported, Friday tracking the heat signatures. "One of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her. Rhodey, you want to take Cap?"

"Got two in the terminal," Rhodes added. "Wilson and Barnes."

"Barnes is mine!" T'Challa started after him.

"Hey, Mr. Stark, what should I do?" Spider-Man asked, looking around at the growing activity.

"What we _discussed_. Keep your distance. Web 'em up."

The kid immediately took off after Rhodes and Bucky. "Okay, copy that!"

The fight that ensued pitted the former teammates against one another. It wasn't long before Vision arrived on scene, and then it became truly ugly. With Ant-Man suddenly more than 30 feet tall and airplane parts flying, it was clear that the fighting wasn't going to end soon.

Clint summed it up best, even as he was fending off Natasha. "As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it."

Sam agreed, his voice filtering through the comms. "This isn't the real fight, Steve."

And so Steve and Bucky sprinted for the hangar while their friends held off the brunt of the fight. They wouldn't have made it if not for Wanda holding up the collapsing watch tower that promised to block their passage.

But the battle still wasn't over. Natasha was waiting for them inside the hangar.

She looked at them, her trademark stun weapon in hand. "You're not gonna stop."

Steve shook his head, his chest heaving, grime and dust on his suit. "You know I can't."

Natasha sighed, as if coming to accept his decision. "I'm gonna regret this." Then she raised her arm and fired off a shot at . . . T'Challa.

Behind Bucky and Steve, the Wakandan grunted, collapsing to his knees in pain as electricity arced over his suit. Natasha looked at the two of them. "Go."

Steve nodded. He and Bucky ran for the quinjet, even as Natasha stunned T'Challa again, slowing his movement. Moments later, the aircraft was flying out of the hangar.

Below Steve and Bucky, their friends were scattered across the airport runway and docking area. Smoke and fire curled up from a dozen damaged or completely destroyed planes. Vision cradled Wanda, who was injured from the sonic disruptor Rhodes had used on her.

"I'm sorry," he said to her quietly.

She looked at him, still trying to catch her breath. She had thought that fighting was the answer. She had been so naïve. "Me too."

Above, Rhodes and Tony went after the quinjet, even as it continued to gain altitude. Sam was on their tail.

Rhodes noted the heat signature. "Vision, I've got a bandit on my six."

Vision's eyes remained on Wanda for another moment. Looking at her state, seeing her pain . . . a strange feeling filled him.

"Vision!" Rhodes repeated. "You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider!"

Vision immediately snapped back to attention and the stone on his forehead glowed bright before a beam of energy shot through the air towards Sam. Noticing that he was being targeted, the paratrooper immediately folded in his wings and dived. The initially incapacitating shot suddenly became deadly as it struck Rhodes instead, slicing through the arc reactor of his suit and sending him into a free fall.

Tony immediately dived down after him. "RHODES!"

* * *

 **Annabeth**

Annabeth decided to visit Camp Jupiter on Wednesday morning. After all, she was in California, and she had been wanting to drop by and say hi. Maybe spend an afternoon with Hazel and Frank, see how Rachel and Ella were getting along with the Sibylline Books, talk with Reyna about temple construction and maybe share some ideas she had already picked up at Stark Industries.

Pepper gave her the go-ahead, adding that she could take the whole day off if she wanted.

"You've earned it," she had said, beaming. "If you want, take Bruce with you. I'm sure I can get one of the newer hires to assume his tasks for a few hours."

Obviously, Annabeth decided against taking Bruce. She had no intention of introducing a human to Camp Jupiter, and besides, given his mild and hesitant attitude, the Roman demigods would eat him alive.

She left in the late morning, taking a backpack with her that carried the essentials. A few drachma coins, denarii, her baseball cap, and the like. The (relatively) safest passage to the camp was through the Berkeley Hills that formed the northern border of the camp, but Caldecott Tunnel was faster. Taking a taxi to the side of the highway, Annabeth hopped the fence and walked the short distance to the middle of the tunnel roof, traffic speeding below her. None of the drivers seemed to notice her, the Mist much stronger in the presence of the camp and the distant Mount Diablo.

Between the two tunnel entrances of opposing traffic was a cement median with a maintenance door. Locating a thin staircase carved into the cement, Annabeth climbed down to the door. As she did, shouts and sounds of clashing metal started drifting up towards her.

Something was wrong.

Hurrying faster down the ridiculously small steps, Annabeth pulled out a celestial bronze dagger, wishing she hadn't left her drakon sword back at Camp Half-Blood. Finally jumping down the last step, she noticed that the maintenance door had been nearly ripped off its metal hinges and there were drops of blood on the floor. Cautiously entering the tunnel, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness just as she heard an unmistakeably familiar chatter of teeth and clack of old bones.

 _Swish!_ Annabeth's instincts clicked and she ducked, narrowly missing decapitation by an 18th century bayonet.

The wielder of the rifle clacked its teeth in challenge, the uniform of an old British regiment shimmering on its bones. Its yellow eyes and sunken cheeks seemed to jeer at her.

A spartus.

And looking further down the tunnel, it appeared there were two others. Annabeth quickly avoided another jab, smashing her elbow into its skull and making short work of its wiry limbs. Hearing the bones click and clack, already beginning to reassemble, Annabeth sprinted down the tunnel towards the main fighting. She made out four Roman demigods, two wearing red-plumed helmets, all wielding an assortment of weapons. They were clearly struggling to keep the animated skeletons at bay, and one was wildly cussing. Dakota, the kool-aid addict.

Yelling, the son of Bacchus finally skewered one of the sparti, pinning it against the wall.

"Eat that!" Dakota yelled, throwing an empty kool-aid packet at the skeleton. The other senior demigod stepped in and swiped the head clean off the shoulders, sending the skull sailing through the air, its teeth chattering all the while.

Annabeth herded the two red-plumed Roman guards out of the tunnel. They were clearly new and young, and had never seen a spartus before.

"Who-who are you?" The boy asked. His helmet nearly covered his eyes, while his curly hair stuck out here and there.

"Annabeth!" Dakota finally noticed the Greek demigod, and kicking one of the sparti in the chest, began to retreat out of the tunnel with her. "Glad you could drop by!"

"You can't beat them!" Annabeth called out to the fourth demigod, darting forward to drag her back with the rest of them. The Roman gave her a fierce glare, looking almost as if she wanted to bite Annabeth's hand off. "We need Hazel!"

"Yep," Dakota grinned, showing cherry-red teeth. "She should be here any moment now. Chelsea, meet your Greek sister, Annabeth!"

Chelsea shook off Annabeth's hand. "Great, someone else who gets to laugh at me," she muttered. She pressed her hand against her arm, grimacing slightly. Catching Annabeth's concerned look, she snapped, "I'm fine! Just a small cut." It must have been her blood that Annabeth had found outside the tunnel.

"She wasn't too happy when she found out Minerva was her mom," Dakota snorted. "I think she secretly hoped it was Mars, even though she already knew her dad was human."

Chelsea shot Dakota a scorching glare.

"Dakota, really not the time," Annabeth muttered as they all retreated out of the tunnel.

They burst into out into the sunlight, Camp Jupiter sprawling out across the valley below them. And behind were the three sparti, their chattering teeth echoing against the cement walls. The two young guards stopped, trying to catch their breath, but Annabeth continued to drag them back. She couldn't fight if she had to watch them.

"Someone called for pest control?" Someone called from above.

Annabeth craned her neck, shielding her eyes as she looked up to see a pegasus. She smiled when she recognized the rider.

"There's my knight in Roman armour!" Dakota beamed. "It's about time!"

One of the spartus suddenly emerged from the tunnel, stalking towards them with a rather unnerving confidence.

Chelsea grinned savagely. "Heads up, skeleton bitch."

Too late, the spartus looked up just as Hazel leapt down, snapping bones along the way and sinking her spatha into its chest. The skeleton erupted into flames, leaving a plume of ashes fluttering to the ground. Catching a whiff of the creatures, Hazel's pegasus panicked and took off.

The five of them backed up the daughter of Pluto, distracting the two other skeleton warriors before she delivered the fatal blows.

Blowing curly hair out of her face, Hazel beamed at Annabeth, putting away her spatha before embracing her friend in a warm hug. "If you told us you were coming, we would've given you a better welcome party!"

Annabeth laughed. "I'll keep that in mind for the future. It's good to know you've got the magic touch, though. I didn't know if Pluto kids could kill sparti."

"Aw, well, I found out yesterday." Hazel looked over at the piles of ashes. "I killed my first last night. It was hanging around the hills and the lares weren't too happy about that."

"How did they get in?" Annabeth asked.

Dakota shook his head, looking concerned now. "One minute everything was quiet, me and Chelsea were on patrol, and then we heard fighting in the tunnel. Proud of these guys," he grinned, patting the two young guards on the shoulder. "They held them off for a good minute on their own."

The young demigods blushed.

"There have been more and more sightings, even one in the Oakland Hills," Hazel sighed. "I think Lupa's wolves are keeping them mostly at bay, though. They're smart. They keep clear of her, for now, but they've been testing other ways to get into camp."

"Like the tunnel," Annabeth nodded, understanding.

"Yup." Hazel looked to the two young guards who had remained silent. "Chloe, Jules."

The two demigods snapped to attention, looking nervous.

"You did good," Hazel smiled at them. "Report back for sentry duty tomorrow morning. You're dismissed."

The two dipped their heads in acknowledgement, and then walked back towards the gate, breaking into a run when they were only a few feet away. Annabeth heard Chloe whoop.

Hazel smiled, her golden eyes shining, standing with a kind of confidence that Annabeth had had the honour of watching grow over the past year. As centurion of the Fifth Cohort, the daughter of Pluto had become one of the favourites among those on _probatio_. She was firm but understanding, and a legend in the legion. After all, not many got to say that their centurion was a member of the Seven.

"We'll have to report this to Frank," Hazel said, her smile fading, looking back at the tunnel.

"I can come with you," Annabeth offered. "I haven't seen you guys in almost a month!"

Hazel hugged her friend. "I missed you. How's the job?"

"It's amazing! How . . . how many people know about it?"

The Roman demigod laughed. "You know how news spreads around here. Like wildfire."

As the two friends caught up, Chelsea headed off to the infirmary to have her arm treated, while Dakota hurried for the barracks to bring back some demigods who could fix the maintenance door and reinforce the entrance.

"You just missed the Hunters. Their tents are still here, but they're out searching for answers about where the sparti are coming from. Thalia's returning tonight, if you can stay till then," Hazel smiled, catching the surprise on Annabeth's face. "Kymopoleia's temple is almost finished, Jason's pretty excited. We might be able to catch him before he goes back to your camp, actually," she added.

"Jason's going back to Camp Half-Blood?" Annabeth blinked. "But he's only been here a few days."

"Yeah, well, with that alien Thor visiting and all the nymphs gone, it's all hands-on deck."

Annabeth nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise, stopping short in her tracks. " _What?_ "

"Well, Querci's already called a total rebellion, it won't be long . . ." Hazel frowned, reading her friend's face. "Wait, you . . . you didn't know? No one told you?"

Annabeth closed her eyes, wondering if this was really happening. Opening them again, she ground her teeth and started to walk in the direction of the pegasi stables. "Tell me everything."

. . .

Hazel gave her the short version of events.

Unhappy about the treatment they had received from both demigods and gods, Querci had declared that the wild spirits were now independent and any resident nymph, faun and satyr should leave Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. It had crippled the Greek demigods more so than their Roman counterparts, considering the important responsibility that lay with satyrs to seek out and protect young demigods and the sheer number of tree nymphs who had lived in the forest. And in response, Percy had invited the Asgardian Thor Odinson into the camp, with the hopes that Querci might be open to negotiation.

Annabeth was at a loss for words. So much had happened in such a short span of time, and worst of all was that Percy had _kept her in the dark_. What happened to all his promises about keeping her updated? Every time they had IM'd, that boy had lied straight through his teeth. He would be lucky if she didn't strangle him to death with her bare hands.

"Jason!" Annabeth called out as they neared the stables. She hoped there were at least two pegasi; the winged horses were usually reserved for Jason and the praetors—well, just Reyna really, considering Frank would probably rather turn into an eagle—but she hoped they could make an exception.

. . .

 **Jason**

"Jason!"

The son of Jupiter looked up, in the midst of packing a bag. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the Greek demigod, and then he straightened, breaking into a smile. "Annabeth! What are you doing here? Not that I don't . . ." He drifted off, reading their faces. "What's wrong?"

"She's going back to Camp Half-Blood to confront one Percy Jackson," Hazel sighed, shaking her head. "I still can't believe he didn't tell you about . . . basically everything."

A strange look crossed Jason's face. "You found out about the nymphs?"

Annabeth's frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The demigod rubbed the back of his neck, clearly avoiding the question. Few demigods could get away with giving Jason Grace a murderous glare, but Annabeth was definitely one of them. "Well, I . . . Percy asked me not to tell you."

Hazel winced, hoping that Jason was joking but knowing that he rarely did.

"He _asked_ you not to tell me? And you agreed?" Annabeth shook her head, disbelieving of what she was hearing. "Is this a 'bro' thing, or am I just missing the picture? Don't answer that." She stalked towards one of the pegasi, grabbing a saddle.

"Wait, Annabeth!" Jason started forward. "I was already heading back to Camp myself," he said quietly. "I called in some favours. We should get there by tonight, latest."

"Fine." Annabeth crossed her arms, clearly angry.

"I'll tell Reyna and Frank about the sparti," Hazel said. She looked at her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know you're mad, but . . . try not to run a spatha through Percy, okay? I'm sure he had his reasons." She didn't like to see her friends fight, especially Percy and Annabeth. She loved both of them too much.

"Hazel . . ." Annabeth ground her teeth together, clearly hearing the demigod but unwilling to listen at the moment. "This is between me and Percy."

"Did you just say 'sparti'?" Jason looked to Hazel, frowning. "What happened?"

"There was an attack by the tunnel," Hazel explained, sighing. Catching Jason's look, she said, "Don't worry about it, we've got it covered. I'll send you updates when I can."

Jason hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, thanks."

Five minutes later, he and Annabeth were shooting through the clouds, sitting in a jostling chariot pulled by four wild and screaming venti. The daughter of Athena didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the cold or violent winds, her eyes looking almost like lasers as she glared at the skies ahead. Jason recognized that look. It was the same one that the massive eagles of Camp Jupiter got when they had spotted their target and were circling in for the kill.

Percy was a dead man.

* * *

 **Hazel**

Hazel was on her way to the praetors' office when she ran into Reyna.

"Hey, I was just on my way to headquarters to talk to you and Frank," Hazel said. "I . . . what's going on?" She asked, suddenly realizing something was wrong. The praetor's lips were pursed, her dark eyes creased with concern.

"Ella. She's missing. Frank and Rachel are out looking for her in New Rome." Reyna gripped the hilt of her Imperial gold sword, clearly worried. "I swear, if Jackson's hellhound took her like she took Hannibal . . . I'm going to check the barracks, perhaps she hid there."

Hazel nodded. "I'll come with you."

Half an hour later, they found her. Not in the barracks, but on Temple Hill, on the roof of Pluto's shrine. Tyson was with her.

The harpy was clearly agitated, pulling at her red hair and feathers, muttered words spilling from her mouth. Over the past year, ever since she'd been rescued from Phineas, Ella's personality had slowly grown. With proper food and care, she had become more confident and her speech less broken. But right now, it was as if they were back to square one.

Currently, she was taking gemstones that had collected on the roof over the years and placing them around her in a loose circle. "Stones are good," she said. "Keep stones safe. Kidney stone. Surgery."

"Ella won't tell Tyson what is wrong," Tyson sniffed, looking at his friend with distraught before he looked back to Hazel, as if pleading with her to talk to the harpy.

"Ella, what's wrong?" Hazel asked gently. She moved to rest her hand next to a small emerald, but Ella shrieked.

"No! Thief! No stealing stones!" She grabbed the emerald and held it close to her chest, regarding the demigod with wide eyes. "Must keep stones safe!"

Hazel suddenly realized that this wasn't Ella's usual nervous energy. The harpy wasn't agitated; she was _scared_. She sat down, making sure to keep her distance, and tried again. "Ella, what's wrong? Are you protecting the stones? Is someone going to steal them?"

Ella bobbed her head, but Hazel couldn't tell if she was nodding 'yes' or it was just a random movement. Behind her, Reyna stood watching, recognizing that the harpy was far more comfortable with the daughter of Pluto. "Cold. Very cold. Winter: The Season."

"It's not quite winter yet, Ella." Hazel said. Sure, it was a bit chilly for July in California, which was sending all the weather people into a craze, but it was still far too warm for snow.

"Hockey in Canada. Maple Leafs. 1967." Ella recalled. Reyna raised an eyebrow and Hazel stifled a smile. Likely an influence of Frank. "The final winter will come, ere the boughs are shed of leaves. Pestilence will rot the beasts and spoil the crops."

Hazel froze, a chill going down her spine. No, it couldn't be. Not after everything they had gone through.

Reyna's dark eyes narrowed into a tense gaze, and the praetor took a step forward. "What did you just say, Ella?"

The harpy didn't seem to hear her. "Hero's flaw will stay thunder's hammer and claim the first life. Thunder and lightning. Scary. Ella does not like thunder and lightning." Then the harpy stretched her wings and stepped out of her circle of stones, Tyson quickly following her.

Reyna looked at her grimly. "I believe that was a prophecy."

. . .

"A prophecy?" Frank looked apprehensive, fidgeting with an arrow as Reyna and Hazel told him of Ella's revelations. "Sounds a bit . . . broken."

"'The final winter will come, ere the boughs are shed of leaves. Pestilence will rot the beasts and spoil the crops. Hero's flaw will stay thunder's hammer and claim the first life.'" Reyna recited. "And 1967 maple leaves? It does seem incomplete," the praetor agreed.

"I don't think the Toronto hockey team is involved . . . Maybe passages of the Sibylline Books were lost, before Ella memorized them?" Frank suggested.

Rachel Dare was in the midst of writing Reyna's recitation on her arm in purple, slender cursive. Her purple t-shirt and shorts were splattered with dyes and marker ink, while her flaming hair had been half-tamed in a messy ponytail. The mortal had acclimated to Roman life surprisingly well, despite her strange habits and hobbies. "That's to be expected, and more than likely. No rhyming? Either we're missing parts or this is not your typical prophecy."

Hazel could barely listen to the conversation. She could only think back on everything that had happened in the Second Giant War, and all she wanted to do was curl up and ignore the world. After everything they had suffered, and the fates were putting them through Round 2?

"Hazel?" Frank looked at her with concern. He placed a hand on her arm, sensing her mood.

Hazel looked at the hand, the fingers callused from drawing back the bowstring so many times. It hadn't been easy, at first. A relationship between a Centurion and Praetor? Normally against regulations, and it was hard to argue against accusations that Frank was giving favour to a subordinate. But Reyna had voiced no objections against it, and the rest of the Legion had gradually accepted their status, though it wasn't hard to notice the disapproval on demigods' and lares' faces when they held hands or exchanged a kiss. So they generally avoided public displays. But right now, Hazel was secretly grateful for the firm hand on her arm. Then she looked at Reyna, whose face was unchanged and indifferent, and stood up straighter. She was a Roman officer of the Legion, for gods' sake. _Pull yourself together, Levesque_ , she chided herself.

"We need to tell the other camp," she said, thinking forward. She wasn't going to let herself be rooted in fear; they needed to be prepared. "And we should ask for counsel from the gods. For all we know, this could be another Great Prophecy."

"Three in less than a decade, let alone a century? That's highly unlikely." Rachel commented. "Then again, you lot are a pretty unlucky bunch, even compared to the rest of Roman and Greek history. I'll pray to Apollo but . . . well, you know."

None of them responded, knowing full well how that would end. Apollo was still missing, and Diana was apparently irate with Lord Jupiter, according to the rumours that the Hunters had brought with them. Getting a response from the absent god was doubtful.

"I will inform the Senate," Reyna said, not looking enthusiastic about the task. So quickly on the heels of two wars, no demigod was going to greet the news of yet another prophecy with much excitement.

"I'll see if I can talk to . . . Lord Mars," Frank offered, looking just as unenthusiastic. "Maybe he knows what's going on."

"I'll contact Camp Half-Blood and Jason, when he gets there." Hazel nodded. "They're busy with Querci today, but hopefully I can catch Percy."

"And that leaves me with Ella," Rachel said, finished scribbling on her arm. "I need to make sure that harpy doesn't caffeinate herself to death. I'll let you know if she spouts anything else important, or if we make heads or tails of the prophecy. Who knows? Maybe it has something to do with Python and Delphi."

Hazel recalled what Apollo had told the Seven on Delos, during the giant war. He had lost his sight of prophecy because Python, the creature he'd defeated shortly after Leto gave birth to him, had been raised back up by Gaea and was once again blocking the cave on Delphi. Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe this was a quest that would return them to Ancient Greece. It sounded relatively manageable. The red-haired mortal left, heading for New Rome. Ella had taken a liking to the attic of the library in the city.

"Thunder's hammer?" Frank shook his head, recalling the prophecy. "I don't think that's even the 10th choice of weapon of Lord Jupiter's."

"Most of it may not make sense, but 'pestilence will rot the beasts'?" Reyna's eyes hardened. "I fear the prophecy may already be upon us."

For a moment, Hazel didn't understand what she was talking about. Then she remembered the two eagles they had lost last week.

Frank nodded, catching on. He looked increasingly uneasy. "The bird apocalypse."

"And the sparti might not be making a random appearance," Hazel suddenly realized. "What are the chances that they show up a week before Ella gives another prophecy?" All after a year of radio silence from the gods and barely any quests. Or in demigod terms, utter peace and quiet.

"Has Nico had any luck finding out where they're coming from? Or if there's any breach in the Underworld?" Frank asked.

Hazel shook her head. "No. I'll let him know what's happened, and maybe I'll have better luck talking to our dad . . ." Yet another unfavourable task.

With each of their responsibilities determined, the demigods went their separate ways.

Reyna looked towards Mount Diablo, recalling the suffering they had endured in the titan and giant wars. "Di immortals."

* * *

 **Percy**

Evening came quickly. With the flood of news coming from Camp Jupiter, demigods had quickly pushed the upcoming meeting with Querci out of their minds and were in the midst of reviewing defences and taking inventory of the armoury. Veterans of the last two wars suddenly found themselves telling stories to younger demigods, leaving Thor to remain in the Big House, watching the sudden uprising of activity in mild, but concealed, boredom.

The absence of the dryads took on a new meaning. Without their presence in the forest, an entire border of the camp was suddenly unprotected and vulnerable. They couldn't even receive reported sightings of resident monsters that lurked in the shadows.

Few demigods were in a good mood. Even the atmosphere of the Ares cabin was somber. Despite the potential of war, the usually battle-driven campers were trudging in the increasingly slippery mud and grass, locating and carefully relocating war mines, faces drawn and grumpy. The traditional gruesome red images splattered on their windows and roof had been washed away, and the decapitated hog's head jutting out above their door stared at the hills mournfully.

Percy was only feeling more nervous as the day progressed, and couldn't avoid Will's frown when the demigod noticed his near-shaking hands.

"Hey, man," the son of Apollo carefully put down the pots of Greek fire, looking at them distastefully. He probably couldn't help it; he was a healer through and through, no matter the circumstances. "I get it. I feel it, too."

Percy nodded, not requiring an explanation. He was a little tired, and very cold, but that wasn't what was making him continually glance over his shoulder or feel a chill creep down his spine. With the news of the prophecy and the attack of the sparti, he could only interpret the near future as uncertain and not good. Was this going to be the next 'Great Prophecy', or just an errand of a quest? Because it certainly didn't feel small and unimportant. First the titans, then the giants. How much worse could the world throw at them? How much worse could he be dragged through? He'd almost—almost—half forgotten what it felt like to be a puppet of the Fates. What it felt like to wonder whether he'd live to the next day. Could he really go through it all again?

Percy groaned, placing his head in his hands. "I—I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

. . .

 **Will**

Will knew the situation was urgent when he heard the uncertainty and pain in Percy's face.

"Hey, Percy, look at me," he placed an unforgiving hand on the demigod's shoulder, snapping his fingers in front of his face. " _Percy_."

The son of Poseidon finally looked at him. His hands were shaking. "I . . ."

"Call Annabeth. You need to talk to her," Will said firmly. "She needs to come back to Camp."

"Annabeth." Percy repeated the name like a lifeline.

"Scary grey eyes, architectural genius, love of your life?" Will raised an eyebrow, but his face was completely serious, devoid of any of his usual humour. "Go. IM her."

. . .

 **Percy**

Percy didn't need to be told twice. Vaguely recalling that he didn't have any drachmas on him, he looked for the closest structure, spotted the Big House and ran for it, hoping there were one or two coins left on the old ping pong table.

He barely made it 40 feet when the hairs on his arms and neck suddenly raised. "You've got to be—"

 _CRACK!_ A massive, ear-blowing roar of thunder rang through Camp, shattering windows and vibrating the very air and earth. Percy swore he could feel his teeth chattering around in his mouth. The rain that had been falling all day seemed to suddenly fall harder and his shirt was now drenched, his hair plastered to his face. Oh, the king of the gods was pushing it. Percy looked up at the dark sky, resisting the urge to shake his fist in anger.

"That would be the first warning." Chiron galloped towards him, his legs splattered with mud and his face grim. "I would advise that you and Thor Odinson travel to Central Park immediately, before we test the anger of the gods any further. When Jason has arrived, I will direct him to you."

Percy hesitated, the thought of talking to Annabeth still on his mind. Gods, he really needed to see her again. Maybe it had been a mistake to hide the last week's events from her. Then a blinding flash of lightning arced down from the sky, instantly incinerating a portion of the gardens, and Percy's mind refocussed to the present problem.

"Where's Thor?" Percy asked, watching as moonlace ashes quickly dissolved in the mud.

"By the road. I have asked Argus to drive you," Chiron said. "Be careful, Percy."

"Always am." Percy dashed off for the hills.

. . .

Argus made quick work of downtown traffic. That and the fact that the streets were relatively manageable; with the constant downpour, many New Yorkers had decided that today was a day to stay indoors.

Arriving on the north border of Central Park, Percy and Thor got out of the car, thanked Argus and watched as the SUV drove away.

"Remember what we talked about?" Percy asked. He wasn't usually one to harp on the finer details of a plan, but this didn't seem like something that should be left to improvisation and quick wit. And besides, Annabeth wasn't here. He needed to represent both of them now.

Thor had been quiet throughout the entire drive. Maybe he was secretly nervous about their upcoming conversation with Querci, or frightened by the gods' display of anger, but Percy doubted it. The Asgardian didn't seem fazed at all, as he looked at him. He had listened to Chiron and forgone the armour, but Mjölnir was still secured at his hip. "Of course. Put aside what prejudices I have and apologize to the e—wild spirits."

Percy nodded. "Let's go."

. . .

They didn't have to wander through the park for very long. After 15 minutes of trudging through wet foliage, Percy cursing Lord Thunderpants every time his soaking shoes squelched in the mud or water dripped into his eyes from his wet hair, a dryad drifted out from a tree to meet them.

She had exchanged her green chiton and sandals for a t-shirt and cargo pants. Bark gauntlets covered her slim arms and a small knife was belted at her waist. Her black hair was braided messily over her shoulder, the stray strands sticking out like small thorns. She assessed Percy and Thor up and down, taking in the mud splattered up to their knees and overall drenched appearance with a look of distaste.

"Come. Lady Querci wishes to speak to you." The dryad turned and headed deeper into the forest, seeming to glide atop the foliage, not a spot of dirt on her bare feet.

Percy and Thor exchanged a look, then followed.

After another few minutes of squelching shoes, the forest suddenly opened up to a small clearing. A dozen nature spirits, including several satyrs, lined the border. They cast white, blue and green light through the otherwise dark evening, their earthly glows refracted by the heavily falling rain and layer of water covering everything. Percy spotted Lily among them. The naiad broke into a beam, gave a small wave and then returned to her previously no-nonsense look.

"Perseus Jackson. Thor Odinson." A dryad walked towards them, her voice slightly muffled by the rain. She wore beautifully sculpted bark armour and a celestial bronze sword was sheathed at her waist. All the nature spirits around them were similarly armed. Percy briefly wondered where they got all the weapons.

"Querci." Percy greeted her. Thor nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"It's _Lady_ Querci," one of the dryads snapped. The one who had led them to this clearing.

"Enough, Pinosa." Querci said quietly. Her golden gaze remained locked on Percy. "Where is Annabeth Chase?"

"She couldn't make it," Percy said. "She's on the other side of the country right now, and plane tickets are expensive. I'll be representing both her and myself."

Querci's face darkened. "Does she consider us so insignificant that we are not even worth a moment of her time? Do you take this meeting to be a _joke_?"

Percy didn't back down. _Remember. Representing both of us._ "No, we don't. She wanted to be here. Really. But that doesn't mean we aren't serious about setting things straight and making sure that all wild spirits get the rights they deserve." He looked at Thor, and then elbowed him when he didn't respond.

Thor cleared his throat. "Percy speaks the truth. I am here to apologize for my terrible actions, Lady Querci. I have killed many of your sisters in blind, irresponsible ignorance. Disrupted entire forests for many years. Treated you like objects, with utter disregard and disrespect. I have a bad rap sheet. And I can only offer my deepest apologies."

Percy tried not to make a face. 'Bad rap sheet'? Where did that come from? And while the rest of the apology was well spoken, there was a certain air of . . . recitation to it. It was _too_ well spoken.

Querci looked at the Asgardian with hard eyes, as if sensing the same thing. Then she said, "Very well. Your apology is accepted."

Percy blinked in surprise.

Querci didn't skip a beat. "For now."

Ah, there was the kicker.

Thor started. "What does—"

"Quiet." Querci cut through his words. Thor didn't say another word, but looked at the dryad with an impassive, almost cold, gaze. "Let us discuss building a new relationship between our two sides."

"I thought we were here to make sure that we all stayed on one side," Percy said cautiously, picking up on her choice of words. He resisted the urge to shake his hair, water continuing to drip onto his face and into his eyes.

"Perhaps." The dryad didn't offer any further explanation.

Percy continued forward. "Well, I can't speak for the gods, but I can speak to them about better representation. I've got plenty of experience with that. If you want a seat among—"

"You think I care for a seat on that high and mighty council?" Querci stalked towards him, her words dripping with contempt. "I could not care less for it! I ask for respect! The same that all gods and demigods expect and always receive. It should not be solely your privilege. It should be our right!"

Percy held out his hands, keeping his cool. "I understand. I'm not arguing with you. Each of you," he looked at the nature spirits present, "deserve respect from both the gods and us."

"No more abuse from Aeolus," Querci said, her voice hard. The _aurae_ present shouted and whistled their approval. "Or unwanted lust from Zeus. We will not be your servants, your unacknowledged soldiers of war nor your thankless _helpers_ and _healers_ ," she spat. "I ask for respect from the gods, respect from you and respect from **him**." Her fiery, golden gaze landed on Thor.

"I apologized," Thor said through gritted teeth. "What more do you want?"

"The cause of our pain, and the root of your arrogance." Querci met the Asgardian's cold glare with an even colder one. "Your weapon, Thor Odinson."

Percy knew it was a bad idea before Thor even opened his mouth, and broke in before the man could wash the entire meeting down the drain. "Wait! Just . . ." he gave Thor a warning look. "This wasn't included in the agreement. You wanted his apology. He gave one, and he meant it." Gods, Percy hoped he'd meant it.

Querci raised an eyebrow. "Protecting the enemy once again, Percy Jackson? Did my words fall upon deaf ears?"

"You want respect, but that's out of the question!" Percy snapped back, getting angry now. "He can't just give you the hammer, and you know it! Your beef is with me and the gods, not him."

"I will choose with whom I have a _beef_ ," Querci retorted. The nature spirits around them began to grow restless. A dryad made for her dagger, but Lily stopped her, shaking her head. "I heard his apology. Now I want to see proof of his remorse. Hand over the weapon, and we will hold it in our possession until it can be determined that he well and truly regrets his deeds."

Thor grasped the handle of Mjölnir, almost seeming to bare his teeth in challenge at the dryad. "You'll have to take it from my dead body."

"Thor, no," Percy growled at the Asgardian. "This is not what we came here to do."

The Asgardian ignored him, his eyes on Querci.

The oaken dryad regarded him with a suddenly indifferent gaze. "Sisters."

Immediately, one by one, wild spirits appeared in the forest around them, like white, blue and green Christmas light decorations, but without any of the cheer and joy. Among them, satyrs raised wooden reed pipes and flutes to their mouths, ready and waiting.

"All bark and no bite." Thor gave a short laugh, unimpressed.

A dryad emerged from her tree branches, her eyes blazing as she looked down at them. "All bark and ALL bite!" And without warning she dropped down and sank her sharpened canines right into Thor's shoulder.

"Aaargh!" Thor roared, far more in anger and surprise then in pain, and staggered as the dryad melted back into her tree. "Cursed elfin sprites!" He moved to bring forward Mjölnir, but before he could cause any irreversible harm, Percy hockey-checked him as hard as he could, putting his entire weight into the motion. Catching him off guard, the Asgardian staggered again and sprawled into the mud and wet foliage. Then a bed of water raised him above the forest floor and thrust him back several feet, away from his hammer.

"On the ground, where you deserve to be, filthy beast." Querci stood over him, looking down at the Asgardian with hate and disgust.

Percy lost his cool. "Do you guys always have to at each other's throats?" He shouted at both of them. "For once, can you pretend to be nice to each other so we can move on?"

"Not with him. Take his weapon," she ordered.

But just as the hammer returned to Thor and the nature spirits converged on him, a howling gale suddenly descended upon all of them. No, not gale. Hundreds upon hundreds of _aurae_. Their white, billowing dresses and transparent forms created a ghostly, howling tornado, and their screaming whistles fell on Percy's deaf ears, but Querci's face seemed to pale the more she listened.

"No, not possible," she whispered. "It can't be. They wouldn't."

The rest of the nature spirits began to become restless, the hard looks on their faces turning to ones of fear, shock and devastation.

English began to filter through the screaming and shouting.

"NO!" A horrible, despairing shriek that bespoke gut-wrenching pain.

"So many . . . so many lost," a dryad whispered, her gaze broken and distant, her knees collapsing beneath her. A naiad caught her, but she too was weeping.

"Wha—what's happened?" Percy shouted above the noise, to Querci.

Querci's pale face met his, and then her face contorted into one of pure rage and hate. "YOU!" She drew her sword and leapt towards him, the weapon brought down in a dangerous arc. Percy managed to raise Riptide in time, the sword still elongating as it intercepted the dryad's blade in a bone-jarring clash of celestial bronze. Straightening, he thrust Querci back, but she remained unfazed.

"You are responsible for this! You and the GODS!" She screamed the last word at the skies, her entire body shaking with rage.

Percy tried to structure some form of a question, but suddenly felt a cold wave wash over him, as if every cell in his body had flash frozen. No, more accurately, it was the culmination of every bad feeling he'd felt this last week. That ominous, foreboding mood lurking in the shadows, making him look over his shoulder, making him want to run to Annabeth and protect her. Something was happening.

Something cold struck Percy's arm. It wasn't a raindrop.

It was a snowflake.

One by one, they looked up and were greeted by the sight of snow drifting down from the skies.

* * *

 **United States of America**

Across the country, a change was taking place. First it was the creep of ice across the surface of puddles and ponds, water fountains and cups of beer. It gripped roots tights, turned loose soil into vices. Frost tipped plains of grass here and there, covered a few hundred palm trees in California in glittering particles. Trillions of bugs froze. Breaths exhaled in West Cost and Central states condensed before surprised and bewildered faces.

Then the change began in earnest.

A Canadian-like winter swept through each state, each town, merciless as it rot and lay waste to millions of acres of crops. And snowflakes. So many snowflakes, like winter couldn't get enough. Blizzards suddenly ravaged Dallas, while a week-long snowstorm had descended upon Ohio.

The wild spirits were not spared. Miles upon miles of forest enjoying the bliss and growth of summer were taken by surprise, sap hardening and shattering trunks from the speed at which it froze. Leaves dropped. So many leaves, as if a dozen autumns had suddenly passed through. The branches quickly followed, dry and hollow, leaving trunks and roots to wizen and rot. How many dryads died that day, trapped in their tree, a freezing grasp of harsh cold the last thing they would ever feel? No one would ever know, let alone fathom. The same could be said of the naiads who died trapped beneath their waters, choking on the rotting fumes of their plants and animals. Drowning in the rotting fumes. The _aurae_ were spared, if one could be so heartless to use that word as the wind nymphs helplessly watched their sisters die.

And it wasn't just happening in America. It was happening all across the world.

Death and destruction.

"So many lives lost." Atropos said quietly, steadily cutting each strand of life. _Snip. Snip. Snip._

"Yes, many lives." Clotho responded in a raspy voice.

"Too many?" Lachesis wondered.

"Perhaps. It is time, sisters." A trio similar to theirs appeared, their thin, old bodies covered in antique Roman robes.

"It is time." The final three sisters agreed, approaching. The giantesses towered over their peers, wrapped in Norse cloths of old.

The nine joined hands, ancient eyes meeting ancient eyes.

Greek. Roman. Norse.

The Fates. The Parcae. The Norns.

They breathed and spoke as one, their ancient, hoarse voices casting themselves throughout the realms below.

"The end is nigh."

* * *

 _The end is nigh._

Frey did not dare move, the words echoing in his ears, in his mind, in the tips of his fingers. He savoured the presence of the sisters. They were old friends.

* * *

 _"The end is nigh."_

Hazel whirled around, her heart pounding at the sound of a discordant cacophony of voices. "Rachel?"

The mortal girl regarded her with black eyes that bespoke centuries of existence. Primordial existence. Her form seemed to vibrate between that of Rachel Dare, and . . . others. Nine old women, standing in a circle, joined at the hands. Hazel staggered back when she realized who three of them were.

 _"A seeker of stones,_

 _The mad titan_

 _Courts . . ."_

* * *

Waiting in the hospital, feeling the worst he had ever felt as he looked at the prone form of Rhodes, Vision heard a voice. He wanted to shudder, though he had never felt true fear. Words echoed in his synthetic ear canals. They went on and on and on . . .

 _. . . Courts death_

 _The final winter will arrive_

 _Ere the boughs are shed of leaves._

 _Pestilence will rot the beasts and . . ._

* * *

Despite the promised death and danger, the fallen god could not help but feel as if he were listening to the most beautiful music he had ever heard. It had been too long since the words of the Fates had struck his ears. If only the voice of Delphi could return as quickly. Apollo sighed.

 _. . . spoil the crops._

 _Hero's fatal flaw,_

 _Will stay thunder's hammer_

 _And claim the first life._

 _Thrice the . . ._

* * *

"YOU DARE?"

A terrible presence loomed towards the nine sisters with frightening speed, but they continued to chant. It was their duty. Their fate.

 _"Thrice the cocks will crow and—"_

"INSOLENT WITCHES!" A voice boomed. A hand rose with fatal intentions. The sisters continued, their speech becoming faster and louder in defiance.

 _"—the fallen king will rise for one final battle! And the City of Gold—"_

"BEGONE!" The hand slashed downwards.

 _"Will fall in—"_

Thanos grunted in satisfaction, kicking the dead bodies into the realms below.

"Pathetic prophecies."

* * *

 **So . . . how was it?**

 **Feel free to send PMs and reviews! Promise to respond to those from the previous chapter after I get some sleep - I'm exhausted. Cheers!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Response to guest reviews:**

 **Randomness** : Aw, sorry about that! I actually haven't read Magnus Chase yet, though I hope to in the near future. Hope you're enjoying the story thus far!

 **Guest (June 30th)** : Thanks! Enjoy the newest update!


	31. Civil War: Birthright

**Hey guys!**

 **So I said December, and the newest update is finally here! I sincerely apologize for my long absence, I hope you understand. I can't imagine how many readers I've lost, I'm so sorry!**

 **To all the new readers, welcome and I hope you guys have been enjoying the story! And to those who have kept with it - thank you, thank you so much, you guys are amazing. Just, amazing.**

 **I've actually got another chapter lined up - still under edits, but will be released in the next week! Things are starting to come together, I'm so excited!**

 **And I recently watched Ragnarok, it was amazing! Such a good movie. To those of you wondering if I will be including the Ragnarok and Homecoming story lines . . . I will be including aspects of them, but not the entire plots. At some point, I need to diverge from the cinematic universe and make this a standalone story, you know? Otherwise I'll be playing catchup to the end.**

 **Anyways, Happy New Year! Hope you guys crossed some stuff off the bucket list in 2017, and wish you guys the best start for 2018 :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Civil War: Birthright**

 **Percy**

In an insignificant speck of the universe, in a tiny clearing within a tiny park, dozens of wild spirits stood in mourning.

Caked in mud, snow beginning to settle on his wet clothes, Thor looked at the nymphs, not even bothering to hide the contempt on his face. Then he turned around and walked away. Nobody attempted to stop him.

Percy could only stand in the clearing, wordless. He didn't know what to say. He knew the extent of the deaths must be massive, but had yet to lay his eyes on the destruction and pain that all of the wild spirits clearly felt.

Querci dropped her sword, green-tinged tears streaming down her face. She looked broken, and yet . . . there was a dangerous glint in her eye. A steel rod in her spine that refused to bend. "You think you have weakened us?" She screamed, looking up at the Empire State Building. Snow continued to fall, an icy reminder of the loss they had suffered. "Stopped our fight for freedom under your oppression?"

"Querci . . ." Percy took a deep breath, trying not to start crying himself. The sorrow of the wild spirits was overwhelming. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you . . . Fighting the gods isn't the answer. There has to be a better way. We don't—we don't even know if they're responsible." For all they knew, the snow goddess Khione could be back for vengeance, returning from her defeat by Piper last year.

Gods . . . Percy hoped they weren't responsible.

Querci faced him, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her face. "Is there another way, demigod? Tell me. Will you defend those whom you call gods, he whom you call Father, after the . . . the—" the dryad gasped, unable to find words to describe her pain. " _Will you defend him_?"

Percy swallowed. He couldn't answer. He was scared of what he would say. He wanted to argue that the gods would never do such a thing. That they could be unkind and unpleasant, but there was goodness in them. But all he could remember now were the cruel and terrible stories that so many mortals considered myths and lessons, and his throat closed up.

Querci nodded, as if she had already known his answer. She looked back up at the skies and shouted, her voice hoarse and raw. "See here, the blind followers you have gained! But you forget that demigods and mortals are not the only ones who feed your power!" She bared her teeth and raked a clawed hand across her chest, thrusting it back at the palace that floated far above the clouds.

"Enjoy your rule without our loyalty, without our prayers. Upon my life and birthright, and the life of each wild spirit who lives and breathes, I curse those who dare call themselves _gods_!" Her body and voice shook with rage, and the final tears fell from her blazing golden eyes. "Your powers will fade, your thrones will crumble and your bodies will rot until our fallen sisters are avenged!"

The response was almost immediate.

Even as the last word echoed through the forest and the surrounding wild spirits began nodding, a hard, cold resolve settling on their faces, the air became charged as if they had suddenly been thrust into a giant electric field. The smell of ozone became overwhelming. The hair on Percy's very head stood—

 _BANG!_ A deafening roar of thunder shook the forest even as a single, blinding tendril of lightning arced down from the skies and struck the ground, not 15 feet from Percy. Bark splintered. Water and snow evaporated. The force of the blast sent everybody within a forty foot radius flying back, nymphs and satyrs crying out in surprise.

. . .

A full minute must have passed before Percy was able to regain full consciousness. Groaning, he struggled to sit up, his ears ringing and black spots dancing before his eyes. A thin blanket of snow sprinkled his clothes. He squinted. There was someone standing over him. A few more moments passed before he realized it was Lily. The naiad seemed to be speaking quickly, the look on her face panicked and urgent.

"I can't—I can't hear what you're saying!" Percy said loudly, grimacing. He shook his head, as if trying to unblock water from his ears. The ringing was worse than when Connor and Travis booby trapped the Poseidon cabin with fog horns.

". . . tree!" Lily grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. She looked as if she were about to begin crying again. "Percy, her tree!"

Before her words could register in his delayed thoughts, the naiad tugged again on his hand, nearly pulling him off his feet. He stumbled over debris, still trying to regain his balance, but the naiad kept pulling him forward, insistent. Around them, wild spirits were regaining their senses. Sounds of shock and fear slowly filtered into his ears.

"Her tree," Lily finally stopped, swallowing and pointing, her voice barely above a whisper. Renewed tears began flowing down her face. "Percy, look at her tree."

Percy followed her gaze, towards the focal point of the blast. There, where a grand and massive oak tree had once stood, was now a stump of blackened wood. Massive branches and plates of bark were scattered about the clearing, seared and smoking. The final flames were already petering out.

" _He_ killed her!" Lily said, crying. There was no doubt as to who she meant by 'he'. Querci had tried to _curse_ the gods, something Percy was still trying to wrap his head around. Whether or not she'd been successful, nobody knew. Percy wasn't sure she had that kind of power. "She's dead."

Before the surrounding nymphs and satyrs could begin to comprehend her words, a high and clear voice spoke behind them.

"I am not so easy to kill."

Percy and Lily turned to see Querci, standing as proud as ever. Her tears had dried, and a dark, cold look had taken over her face.

Lily was speechless, as was the rest of the wild spirits. Cries of surprise and relief rippled through the forest. "H-how . . . ?"

Percy could only recall the words that Querci had shouted at the gods.

 _Enjoy your rule without our loyalty, without our prayers. Upon my life and birthright, and the life of each wild spirit who lives and breathes, I curse those who dare call themselves gods!_

Birthright. What birthright?

Percy looked at Querci with new eyes. Who were her parents? He'd assumed that she was simply born out of an oak tree, her life source deeply tied to its existence and wellbeing, like any other nymph. But now he was beginning to recall the other rumours surrounding the dryad. She had been transported to North America in a vase. She was initially from Ancient Greece. She was hundreds of miles—let alone decades—from her tree. How did she survive the trip? How could she be standing before them, living and breathing, while her tree was likely dead all the way back in Europe?

Percy shook his head, confused. "Who are you?"

"It will take more than a pouting _god_ to be rid of me," Querci said, her voice filled with loathing, leaving his question unanswered.

It was as if she had escaped death before.

"I know the feeling," Percy finally responded. What else could he say?

"Leave, demigod." She said to him. "I will be generous and give you an hour, then any demigod in this forest will learn the consequences of the gods' actions. We will rip. Them. Apart." She had lost her fiery passion and fury; now there was only anguish in her eyes. "The gods will learn our pain, and they will _suffer_."

Percy swallowed, looking around the clearing, but only stone-faced nymphs and satyrs returned his gaze. He caught Lily's eyes, but the naiad looked down, her face conflicted. He realized that he was no longer surrounded by allies, let alone friends. He had faced more than his fair share of arrogant and powerful beings, but Querci's words continued to ring in his ears even as silence fell upon the clearing. The wild spirits were angry and hurt, and fueled by their loss, they were dangerous _._

He raised his hands. "Alright, I'm leaving."

Then he turned around, hoping he wouldn't suddenly feel a dagger sinking into his back, and retreated.

He only made it a few dozen feet, trudging through the growing layer of snow blanketing the ground, wishing he had brought a jacket . . .

Trying to navigate by the light of Riptide and locate Thor by his massive, +15 size footsteps, trying to cook up what he would say to the Asgardian after he flushed their meeting down the drain . . .

Hoping that the gods really hadn't committed this terrible crime that had killed an immeasurable number of nymphs and was causing snow to fall . . .

When he heard someone calling his name.

"Percy!" There was the crunch of fresh snow and twigs underfoot, and then somebody burst through the trees and shadows, her blazing, grey-eyed glare swinging towards him.

Percy swallowed, his joy and surprise quickly overtaken by apprehension. This was going to be hard to explain.

"Hey, wise girl."

* * *

 **Annabeth**

Annabeth and Jason had just reached the State of New York when the snow suddenly started falling, replacing the constant onslaught of rain that had soaked them to the bone.

A snowstorm. In the middle of summer.

"What in the name of . . ." Jason could only look at the dark sky, then down, left and right, his eyes wide behind fogging glasses. "What's going on?" He shouted over the screaming gales and _venti_.

Annabeth shook her head, just as shocked and confused. "I don't know!" She responded, disturbed by this new turn in events. She wrapped her thin sweater around herself tighter, her hands and face numb with cold. Ice was beginning to form in her hair. Jason didn't look any better, his lips blue and his skin much paler than usual.

The majority of their trip had been fraught with unforgiving rain and wind. It had felt like nighttime even when it had been the afternoon. The sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden far away behind the storm clouds. Jason said his father was angry, but he couldn't explain why.

And this new, cold weather phenomenon had brought with it an ominous, foreboding dread. One that Annabeth knew Jason had felt, as well. Something much colder and darker than the storm they were currently struggling through. It made Annabeth's skin crawl, and her body shiver for reasons beyond the snow and wind.

"I can see the park!" She shouted again, shielding her eyes from stinging ice crystals as they flew through the storm. According to Hazel, Percy was supposed to meet Thor there tonight. They had planned to catch the demigod in Camp before he left, but that was before the unanticipated hours-long flight delay that had distracted their four storm spirit pilots.

Jason nodded, hearing her. "I'll try my best to land there!" He gripped the reins of the _venti_ tighter, giving them a flick. "To Central Park!"

The violent, cantering horses continued dragging the chariot through the storm, seeming not to hear the demigod's order.

"To the forest!" Jason shouted, clarifying. "The trees!"

The wind spirits suddenly bucked and screamed before diving, heading straight for Central Park and giving their two unfortunate passengers a severe case of vertigo.

. . .

Annabeth was reminded that night why _venti_ were not the go-to chariot pullers for day-to-day activities. Given their heightened excitement and energy in the storm, the four horses nearly crash-landed in the park, narrowly avoiding a lake before careening into a small grove. The chariot was sent tumbling across the snow, swinging in a wide arc with the reins still attached to the storm spirits, before slamming into a metal statue sitting serenely next to a bench.

Annabeth immediately clambered out of the half-broken chariot, staggering to lean against a tree, her knees shaking. Never again.

Jason wasn't much better, despite his ease with air travel. His face pale and his blonde hair frosty, he slowly made his way out, freeing the storm spirits. They neighed and screamed, flying upwards and dissipating into the wind.

Nursing her fingers back to life, Annabeth looked around, already hearing a familiar voice in the distance. A high and proud voice.

"That's Querci," Annabeth said, turning towards the direction that it was coming from. She could feel a headache beginning to develop from all the cold and snow. Heavy rain followed shortly by snow was a cocktail of troubles; they would be lucky if they didn't get hypothermia soon.

Jason shook snow from his hair. "Didn't imagine her voice sounding like that."

Straightening, she started marching through the snow, fighting a sniffle that was tickling her nose. Jason matched her strides, blowing into his cupped hands and shoving them under his armpits to ward off frostbite.

Unfortunately, Querci's voice fell off their radar within a few minutes. But they bumped into somebody else.

. . .

Annabeth felt a rush of happiness at seeing him largely uninjured and alive, and anger at the same thing. His clothes appeared to have been dragged through a blend of rain, snow and mud and his tanned skin was pale with cold.

The son of Poseidon gave a weak smile. "Hey, wise girl."

The anger won out.

"Don't 'wise girl' me," Annabeth snapped, stalking towards him.

Percy raised his hands, taking an involuntary step back. "Look, I can explain—"

Annabeth stuck a finger right in front of his face, forcing him to go cross-eyed. In any other situation, she would've laughed. "I don't need an explanation, Percy Jackson. You lied to me! After everything we agreed on, after all the promises you made, _you lied to me_!"

"And I did it for you!" Percy said, trying to explain. "This was the opportunity you were—"

"I don't need you to do anything for me!" Annabeth retorted. "I need you to be honest! I had to go to Camp Jupiter and talk to Hazel before I found out about the mess you made!"

"I took care of it just fine!" Percy snapped back, starting to get frustrated. "The camp doesn't need you everyday to make decisions, you know."

"That's not the problem, Percy!" Annabeth wanted to shake him in anger. How could he not understand? "Camp is my home! You don't get to decide what I should and shouldn't know!"

"I wanted you to be happy," Percy said more quietly, clearly not willing to admit his mistake. "I thought you said it was your dream. Or did you lie?"

Annabeth nearly punched him right then and there for his words. "Don't be a smart ass with me, Percy Jackson."

"And you were having fun with that Bruce guy," he muttered, almost inaudibly.

"Bruce is a co-worker!" Annabeth said furiously. "And he's 26!"

Percy didn't say anything.

Annabeth gritted her teeth. Clearly this conversation was going nowhere. "Where is Querci? What happened to the meeting?"

"It's over," Percy said, still not looking at her. "And if we don't leave in the next hour, she and the other nymphs are probably going to kill us."

Annabeth closed her eyes. "Percy—"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?" Percy snapped, reading her face. "You probably think I started the snow, too, right?"

Annabeth glared at him. "Don't give yourself so much credit."

Percy rolled his eyes, but there was none of his usual humour. "It was going fine until Querci asked for Thor's hammer. And then the snow came, and the nymphs started freaking out." Percy shook his head, some of his frustration twisting into confusion and . . . grief? "Querci said that hundreds of dryads and naiads across the country have been killed. And she thinks the gods were responsible."

Annabeth looked at him, her anger dissipating. This had clearly grown into something much greater than a civil suit or disagreement. "Hundreds . . . and are they responsible?"

Percy shrugged his shoulders, looking more miserable. "I don't know. Querci cursed the gods, and Zeus destroyed her tree right after. But she's still alive."

Annabeth took a moment to comprehended his words. "That's not possible," She finally said. "Dryads can't—"

"Yeah, I know. I'm not an idiot." He suddenly turned around and started walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Thor." He didn't stop.

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at his back. He wanted to act like a child throwing a tantrum? Fine. She looked around for Jason, planning to head back to Camp, and noticed the demigod a dozen feet away, smartly staying out of their confrontation and argument.

"No need to look for the Asgardian."

Annabeth turned with a start. Someone was standing before Percy, stopping the son of Poseidon in his tracks.

"Lord Hermes." Annabeth greeted with surprise. The last time she had spoken with a god was last year, right after the giant war. Under any other circumstances, she would've wondered why they were finally paying a visit, but the cold and snow said it all.

Dressed in a thick travel cloak on top of gleaming battle armour, the god looked at the two demigods, his face grim. "Lord Zeus wishes to speak to both of you."

* * *

 **Loki**

Asgard was still reeling from the events that had taken place less than an hour earlier. Some still could not believe their eyes, and yet their frosted breaths and chilly winds said otherwise.

Snow. In the middle of harvest season.

Reports were coming in from numerous realms that fields upon fields of crop had been destroyed. Food that was needed to sustain thousands of people through the summer and harsh winter—lost. Everyone was requesting an audience with the king, leaving Loki with a terrible headache.

He was not interested in the snow. He had known the final winter was approaching, it was inevitable. Instead, he was occupied by something that had accompanied the phenomenon.

Voices had stirred in the branches of Yggdrasil, the immense tree that bound the Nine Realms together. He had not caught the words, no matter how hard his ears had strained to listen. He could not help but think he had missed something gravely important, and he was not one to simply let such things pass beyond his notice.

Then Heimdall left his station in the Observatory to deliver Loki the answers he sorely needed.

The Asgardian entered the throne room, another person close on his heels. The two massive warriors stopped before Loki, both bowing their heads.

"Heimdall. Frey," Loki greeted the visitor with an almost cold tone. Inwardly, he was trying to calm his racing heart. Only two people knew that he was impersonating the king. And unlike Volstagg, Frey had not bound his silence with an oath. "What brings you to Asgard?"

Frey bore a quiet smile. For one who had lived in seclusion for many decades, the giant cleaned himself up well. He wore leather pants and a vest, his massive broadsword strapped to his back and his antler secured at the hip, prongs sharp and polished. "I wished to speak to the king." His black eyes gleamed with dark humour. "And here he is."

Loki waited to see if he would attempt to reveal his identity, but the giant, though he clearly enjoyed testing his patience, did not seem interested.

"You are aware of the early winter, I am sure," Frey continued in his rough tones. "But did you know that the coming of the snow also bore with it a prophecy?"

Heimdall nodded, his golden eyes grim. "I heard it, as well. From the Norns themselves."

"If you were not sitting before me, I would think that Ragnarök was approaching," Frey laughed. "As all the stories go, the end comes upon the death of our great king, does it not?"

Loki gave him a dark look, before returning his gaze to Heimdall. "A prophecy? Are you sure?"

The watcher of Asgard did not appear to notice anything amiss in their exchange. "Yes. Just as the snow began to fall, I heard them speak . . . with others whom I could not identify."

Loki sat back. A prophecy, delivered by the Norns themselves. He could not remember the last time they had received such a divination. And yet, Ragnarök was upon them. There was not a more appropriate time for prophecies.

"And what did they say?" Loki asked finally.

Heimdall began to recite:

"The end is nigh.  
A seeker of stones,  
The mad titan  
Courts death.

The final winter will arrive  
Ere the boughs are shed of leaves.  
Pestilence will rot the beasts and spoil the crops.

Hero's fatal flaw,  
will stay thunder's hammer  
And claim the first life.

Thrice the cocks will crow and  
the fallen king will rise for one final battle.  
And the City of Gold will fall in."

Heimdall cleared his throat. "That was all, my king."

Loki blinked. "But it is not complete. 'The City of Gold will fall in what?'"

"I do not know," he shook his head. For once, the all-seeing Asgardian seemed to be stumped. "It was as if the Norns were . . . interrupted."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone silenced the sisters," Frey clarified. His words were weighted with meaning. "Someone with the power to pose an immense threat to them."

Loki understood whom he was implying.

"My king, with your health in mind, I would advise that you remain in Asgard for the time being," Heimdall spoke quietly. "Frey is not wrong is in assumptions, Ragnarök could very well be approaching."

"Of course." Loki stood up, stretching his legs, about to dismiss the two of them. He would need time to decipher this prophecy.

"That is not all," Heimdall spoke up again. "The Olympians request your presence on Midgard, on neutral terms."

Frey raised a bushy eyebrow. "The Olympians? My, is this not an interesting day."

Loki did not share his enthusiasm, only his surprise. "What . . . what do they want?"

"They did not tell me. One of them, a young man with a winged helmet, simply called for my attention on Midgard and asked, if it pleases you, to attend a meeting on their Mount Olympus. He spoke well in the ancient tongue," Heimdall noted.

Loki wanted to groan in frustration and annoyance. Those damned, arrogant upstarts that Odin had dealt with all those decades ago. All these years of silence, and now they suddenly wished to meet again.

He did not care how well the god spoke in any tongue. He could not visit the Olympians, even if he wanted. As much as he hated to admit, some of them were likely more powerful than both he and Thor combined, and he did not wish to test how keen their eyes were. His impersonation of the All-Father would likely fall apart the moment he stood before them.

No, he could not go. After all, Heimdall had advised him to remain in the realm. But he could send one Asgardian—or four—in his place.

. . .

"But All-Father—I believe we may have seen a second Infinity Stone in that strange collection of his." Fandral insisted. "Not the Reality Stone we gave him for safekeeping, but one coloured violet." Next to him, Hogun nodded his affirmation. "The Collector may be _possessing two Infinity Stones._ "

"Do not worry," Loki waved away his concerns, becoming impatient. Yes, he had sent the Warriors Three and Sif to Knowhere with the goal of bringing back the Aether, but at the moment, this meeting with the Olympians was more pressing. "I will send someone else to investigate and ensure that nothing is amiss. At the moment, I require that you travel to Midgard and address the Olympians on my behalf. All four of you—including Volstagg." The warrior had only become more unruly with the coming of the snow. Loki wouldn't be surprised if he tried to kill him while his back was turned. "I cannot possibly leave now with the events that have occurred."

"Of course, All-Father," Lady Sif bowed her head. "Is it true . . . winter has swept across all the realms?"

"It is," he responded as grimly as he could, mustering up a deep frown. "Perhaps with Frey's help, we may discern what has caused this turn in season."

"And just to make certain, we are visiting the Olympians in peace, correct?" Fandral. He could not help but recall all the childhood stories his parents had told him about the brute gods. They were deceitful, and cannibalistic . . . Fandral shivered slightly. He welcomed adventure, but he did not look forward to this meeting.

"Yes," Odin nodded. "Do not provoke them. Find out what they want, keep within your bounds."

"Of course." Sif responded. "We will leave now."

The four, including Volstagg, rode to the Observatory. With their friend still quiet and surly, an uncomfortable silence set in.

"I cannot imagine this meeting with the Olympians ending well," Fandral finally said, sighing. His horse snorted in agreement. "Perhaps I'll get a few good swipes in."

"We are going in peace," Hogun reminded him quietly.

"They are brutes. Some have even had child with their own siblings!" Fandral shook his head in disbelief. "They cannot keep their hands off each other, or the Midgardians."

Sif gave a dark look. "If one tries to touch me, he will lose both his hands. And his head."

* * *

 **Percy**

Before Percy could check if he had any change in his pockets to call a cab to the Empire State Building, Hermes placed a heavy hand on his and Annabeth's shoulder, whisking them away. The world turned into a blur of colour and there was a rush of wind that seemed to peel the skin off his bones, before his feet suddenly struck ground again. The pristine marble floor of the Olympus throne room, to be exact. Percy swayed on the spot, trying not to vomit from the unexpected air travel. He doubted any of the Olympians would be impressed.

The last time Percy had visited the palace, the Second Giant War had just been won and everyone was celebrating. Not much had changed since last year. Aphrodite gave the two demigods a mysterious smile that promised trouble, while Hephaestus grunted in acknowledgement. Even Hades was present, his cold eyes boring right into the back of his skull. Strangely enough, Poseidon was avoiding his gaze. Percy wondered with deep unease if these gods and goddesses really were guilty of what Querci was accusing them of.

At least he wouldn't lose his fingers to frostbite. In the warmth of the palace and the hearth happily burning away in the middle of the room, blood finally began to return to his face and limbs.

Zeus stirred in his grand throne, frowning at them deeply. He looked particularly annoyed. "Percy. Annabeth. It appears you are as troublesome as ever."

"Brother, don't greet my son with insult," Poseidon said quietly. It appeared the two gods were currently on bad terms—or at least worse-than-usual bad terms. The two glared at one another.

"Please, enough with the drama," Hades snapped, cutting through the tense silence. "I did not come up here to listen to your bickering."

"Lord Hades is right. We have urgent matters to discuss." Athena said, her stormy gaze alert and intense.

"The snow, right?" Percy finally spoke up, pushing down the bile rising in his throat. "I mean, it looks like the middle of January down there."

"It is much more than just snow, Jackson. And it is the same across the entire globe, " Athena responded. "We are well aware of the situation."

"And did you, by any chance . . ." Percy could barely meet his father's eyes. He hoped he wasn't about to be struck down by a stray lightning bolt. It wasn't an easy question to ask: _Hey Dad, by the way, are you a mass murderer?_ _Excluding all past acts of slaughter, of course_. ". . . Did you do this?"

Hades gave a cold laugh, and there were a few more chuckles around the room. "You ask if we are responsible for this winter? I do not think any god here would risk the ire of my wife, or her mother," he gave a civil nod towards Demeter.

The goddess of agriculture returned his nod, her usually warm brown eyes hard and intolerant at the moment. "I would hope not. Persephone is currently scouring the mortal world, looking for the few poor souls who might be saved from this sudden onslaught of snow and ice." Demeter pursed her lips. "We only recently celebrated the summer solstice, and there were many crops in their prime. Much grain was lost." The goddess swallowed imperceptibly. "Many nature spirits were lost."

"This is no natural winter." Athena agreed. "We must find and catch whomever is responsible."

"What about Khione?" Annabeth finally spoke. "Maybe she was responsible?"

"She would not dare show her face after the war," Zeus growled.

Percy gave a quiet sigh of relief as the gods spoke. So they weren't responsible. Looking around, he avoided Poseidon's questioning gaze. "And can you help the nymphs? There's a dryad named Querci, she . . ." Percy drifted off, realized that all of the gods had fallen silent, looking at one another. All except Dionysus. The god of wine appeared unusually quiet and subdued.

"That damned child of yours." Zeus growled, eyeing his son with anger. "I should have killed her long ago."

"'Pouting god'," Aphrodite laughed. "I would have recognized her when she first revealed her presence, but she conceals herself well for such a whining, pitiful dryad."

"Wait, Querci is Mr. D's kid?" Percy blinked, surprised.

"How else do you think she survived the destruction of her tree?" Athena raised a judgemental eyebrow. "She is no contemporary dryad. While all of her sisters are hamadryads, she is not."

"Ham dryad?" Percy frowned.

" _Hamadryad_." Annabeth rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. "A dryad whose life source is tied to her tree. But if Querci isn't a Hamadryad, that means she can travel as far as she wants. And even if her tree was destroyed, she wouldn't die."

"Exactly," Athena nodded, as if she were a teacher and Annabeth her student.

"She is as much of a nuisance as she was two thousand years ago," Zeus muttered.

"Her old name was Pholoe. She was one of ten dryads fathered by young Dionysus and some forgotten nymph, and left in the care of a well-regarded and modest village lady, to become her handmaidens." Aphrodite elaborated, inspecting her nails. "If I remember correctly, their patron goddess was Demeter," she sniffed. "Pholoe became an average gal in her village, and caught the eye of a certain god."

Zeus grunted, unashamed. "She was beautiful," he pressed. "They named a forest after her."

Aphrodite shrugged. "Very well. Nevertheless, she turned down his advances, called him a 'pouting god' in the process. It became a preferred phrase of hers as the weeks passed. So dear brother called upon my services."

Percy felt a pit growing in his stomach. He hated these stories.

Annabeth looked just as repulsed, though she hid it well. "You two . . . fell in love?"

"Oh no, dear. My _other_ services," the goddess smiled indulgently. "I cursed her younger half brother, whom she cared for dearly, and he fell hopelessly in love with her. In fact, the magic was a little too powerful for him. Such are the difficulties of mortals," she sighed. "Pholoe returned home one day to find her nine sisters dead, killed by him after they too had turned down his advances. She was forced to thrust a knife into his heart, before she befell the same fate. Such a deliciously tragic story," the goddess beamed, as if she could find no better entertainment than family members slaughtering one another. "Quickly afterwards, she disappeared. Evidently, someone smuggled her to the new lands, and here she is today. Alive and well, with a new identity."

Percy swallowed. Well, this would explain Querci's disdain for gods and demigods. Anyone would become bitter—hell, he was surprised she didn't go insane from grief. It had to have taken a rare strength to push forward and continue living. He suddenly developed a newfound respect and admiration for Querci. Her story was not unlike any given demigod; they had all found themselves under the thumb of the gods, at one point or another. And her birthright . . . she had been referring to the fact that she was a daughter of Dionysus. Percy wondered just how different Querci was from the rest of the nymphs.

"And she had the gall to try and curse us!" Zeus growled. "Us, the gods!

"Well, she did believe you caused the snow," Annabeth finally interjected. "She still believes you're responsible for the deaths of hundreds of wild spirits."

"Not hundreds, demigod," Demeter said quietly. "More. Thousands, hundreds of thousands. You cannot imagine the wave of death that rolled over this country." The goddess appeared almost distraught, and this did not escape Zeus' eyes.

"Unfortunate, but do not shed more tears for them than necessary, Sister." The god warned. Percy's stomach turned at the god's words. "They are nothing but trouble. Perhaps this will teach them to respect their rulers, and appreciate the life we have granted them. And Querci . . . she may have escaped me yet again, but the third time she will not be so lucky."

Dionysus did not react, his face utterly blank and unfeeling. Percy couldn't tell whether or not any of this mattered to him. After all, he had released the dryads in Camp Half-Blood from their trees, and fed Querci's rebellion. Had he anticipated that it would end this way? His daughter once again hunted by the king of the gods, and so many nymphs dead? Maybe Dionysus had been the one to smuggle Querci out of Ancient Greece.

"But there's no reason for conflict." Annabeth pointed out. "Much of this is rooted in misunderstanding. She thought that you were responsible for the snow, but you're not."

Athena shook her head in warning. "Now is not the time, child."

Percy pushed forward. "But if you just talk to one another—"

"Do not play peacemaker with us, demigods." Zeus cut across him. "We have no reason to apologize—they brought this upon themselves. Querci has only herself to blame."

"And the curse was pathetic," Ares snorted. "Stupid dryads don't have that kind of power."

"Our thrones have been challenged by Gaea herself," Hera added. "Querci is blinded by her arrogance if she believes she can strike us down."

Percy could not believe what he was hearing. He'd thought that maybe if he stood before the gods themselves, and lay the problem before them, they would understand that mistakes had been made. They could apologize to one another and turn over a new leaf. But no, it appeared as if the gods were too proud to admit their faults. And Querci was certainly too angry to see her own blunders.

Annabeth appeared similarly frustrated. "Then why did you bring us here, if we're not helping to fix relations with the nymphs?"

Zeus stood. "Ah, well that requires a few more individuals. Who should be arriving . . . now."

There was a _whoosh_ and a flutter of wings, before a man suddenly appeared a few feet before Percy and Annabeth. Percy blinked—what was _Thor_ doing here? Hermes disappeared again, before returning a second later with four more people.

"The Asgardians," Hermes nodded to Zeus, before taking his seat among the gods.

The change was instantaneous. In a flash, all eleven Olympians were mega-sized and donned in their finest armour. Thirteen weapons of mass destruction were held out in open view while shining Imperial gold and celestial bronze armour temporarily blinded the seven mortals. Trying to blink dancing spots out of his eyes and ignore the fact that his body felt like it wanted to spontaneously combust, Percy almost laughed. Nothing spoke towards Zeus' paranoia more than this ridiculous display of power. Even Annabeth looked sceptical. And neither of them bothered to point out that Apollo's and Artemis' thrones were empty.

"ASGARDIANS!" Zeus' deep voice boomed, filling the enormous room and reverberating against the walls. "Welcome to Olympus."

. . .

"Thor!" One of the four people who had appeared looked at Thor in surprise, clasping her hand on the Asgardian's shoulder. She was tall, with long dark hair and a staff-like weapon belted at her hip. She was dressed in strange battle armour that was not dissimilar to what Percy had seen Thor wear. In fact, all of the new arrivals wore similar outfits. "We were not told that you would be attending this meeting, as well."

Thor blinked, his anger dissipating temporarily. "Lady Sif? Hogun? What—"

"By Odin's beard!" a lithe, blonde haired man grasped the Asgardian's arm and hand, shaking it vigorously. "Good to see you alive and well, my friend!"

"Fandral, Volstagg, I don't understand." Thor shook his head in disbelief and confusion. "Why are you here?"

"Hmph, it's good to see you too," Fandral shook his head. "Grateful as always."

"I asked Hermes to bring you here," Zeus rumbled.

Thor Odinson looked around, as if finally realizing where he was. His face darkened, and his hand strayed towards Mjölnir at his hip. Catching sight of Percy and Annabeth, he sent the briefest of glares in their direction, which Percy returned. The Asgardian was still dressed in civilian clothing, his flannel shirt wet with mud and snow. Barely dipping his head in greeting, the Asgardian regarded the gods with cold, cold eyes. "Olympians."

"At peace, Thor Odinson. We do not mean harm." Hera eyed him with a neutral gaze.

Thor looked unconvinced. "What do you want of me?"

Percy didn't blame him. With a greeting like this, what kind of message did the gods think they were sending? _'Let's celebrate! We can instant cook with the Master Bolt, and don't worry about entertainment, we'll bring your darkest fears to life with this Helm of Darkness!'_

Zeus raised a large, bushy eyebrow that disappeared into his ornate, gold helm. "Quick and direct, like your father." He lowered his head towards the Asgardian, the smell of ozone becoming almost overwhelming. Percy could count the individual hairs in his nose.

"I believe you have overstayed your welcome in my domain."

"Among other matters," Athena said before an uncomfortable silence could settle in, shrinking to her normal form and sitting back down in her throne. Her battle armour was suddenly replaced with a sleeveless, Greek-style dress that rippled with grey waves.

"Of course." Zeus followed suit, along with the other gods. "And if my eyes are not mistaken—and they never are—where is Odin?" His blue gaze swept through the five Asgardians, while a frown deepened on his face. "Did I not ask for him, Hermes?"

"Yes, but I was sent these four instead." Hermes nodded his head towards them.

"The King of Asgard is currently engaged in other important matters." The woman explained. She did not look happy to see the gods, either. "He sends his most gracious greetings and apologizes for his absence."

"You mean, he doesn't have time for us." Ares said, his flaming eyes burning brighter.

The woman didn't back down, her gaze locked with Zeus'. Percy wondered if she knew who she was speaking to, but at the same time, developed a grudging respect for her. "The All-Father will not mindlessly obey the beck and call of any individual."

"He is busy—ruler of Asgard and such," Thor added. Nobody missed the bite in his words. "If you do not mind my asking—I was, after all, unexpectedly assailed by one of you and brought here against my will—what _exactly_ do you wish to discuss? This is not my first visit to Midgard, and I cannot imagine why you would wait so long before addressing any matters of trespassing."

Zeus looked more than ready to respond, but Hera placed a hand on his arm, interrupting him. "Let's not forgo introductions, husband." She said, looking at their five guests.

Zeus leaned back, his face unreadable. "Very well."

Hera continued, "As we are playing hosts . . . I am Hera, Queen of the Olympians. This is Zeus, my husband and King of the Olympians, and his brothers Hades and Poseidon." At the sea god's name, Thor frowned at Percy, as if looking for some resemblance. "Our sister, Demeter. Aphrodite." The goddess gave Thor a small wave, assessing him from head to toe with a sly glint in her vibrant eyes. "And our children, Ares, Hephaestus, Dionysus, Athena and Hermes." At each mention, Thor and his friends surveyed the gods, their gazes becoming more and more guarded. "And that is the . . . immediate family. Your names?"

The Asgardians traded wary looks for a moment, before turning back towards the gods.

The dark-haired woman spoke. "You are already acquainted with Thor. I am Sif, and these are the Warriors Three. Fandral, Hogun—" she nodded towards the man with a black haired tied back in a ponytail, who looked faint Oriental looks, "—and Volstagg," she pointed to the stout man with a long beard and hair, a surly expression on his face. "We may not be the All-Father, but we are his most trusted warriors. What message you have for him, you may entrust to us."

"I am not in the mood to bandy about messages." Zeus said. "I have only words for your king and his son. Take them out of the palace and return with Odin," he ordered Hermes.

"As ruler of Olympus, you must understand the demands and stresses that accompany a king," Thor said firmly, not giving away any ground. "Percy has told me many . . . great things about the gods. Were they all lies? Have you no empathy?"

Zeus grunted, unimpressed by his appeal. "I have little patience. And I'm sure Perseus told you many things. He's given us much information and we have learned much from your conversations."

Thor's eyes narrowed. "What is that to mean?"

"Very little happens in my domain without my knowing," Zeus responded. "You imagine I would let you run about your business, unhindered and ignored? That your relations with our children are purely based upon 'friendship' after so many decades of silence between our two kingdoms and an unsullied treaty?" Zeus raised an eyebrow, and Ares snorted with derision. "You must think us fools. I would not tolerate your presence otherwise, considering the uprising you have caused among those tiresome nymphs."

"And for all we know, you caused this damned 'bird apocalypse' that has all the mortals crying like newborn babes," Ares curled his lip in disgust.

Thor seemed to barely hear his words, turning towards Percy and Annabeth as realization dawned on his face. "You . . . you were spying on me!"

Hearing his words, his fellow comrades gave shouts of shock and anger.

"You lying brats!" Fandral growled.

But the demigods barely heard the Asgardians, both of them looking up at their parents in confusion.

"D—Lord Poseidon, what is he talking about?" Percy asked, bewildered. What was going on?

Annabeth seemed to understand, but shook her head in disbelief, regarding Athena with eyes that seemed to plead that what she was hearing wasn't true. "Mother?"

The god and goddess remained unusually silent for a moment, trading a rare, strange look that Percy did not understand. Acknowledgement or acceptance . . . of a shared guilt.

Athena finally spoke. "It was for the good of Olympus," she said quietly, as if she expected Annabeth to understand.

"The presence of Asgardians can only be tolerated for so long," Poseidon continued in the same tone. And yet, his jawline was rigid and his hands curled into fists.

"Poseidon and Athena recognized the dangers of such an intrusion and agreed to send both of you signs, encouraging you to maintain your relationship with the so-called 'Avengers', and in addition, Thor." Zeus explained, as if it were simple. "It was the easiest way to discern why he had entered our world, once again, uninvited and unwelcome."

No, this couldn't be happening. Percy looked at his father in disbelief, unable to keep the utter shock out of his voice. "Wait, are you saying—Dad, _you used us to spy on him_?"

"We hoped—believed you would understand," Poseidon said, swallowing, addressing him directly now.

"My daughter, think of our position as gods." Athena added. But the demigod's face had become expressionless, unwilling to show forgiveness. The look would have given Percy the chills, if he had not been just as angry.

Pawns. That's what they were to them, time and time again. Even their own parents had used them. Percy refused to look Poseidon in the eye. As far as he was concerned, the man sitting only a dozen feet from him was not his father.

"You are your mother's child, Annabeth. I am sure you see the wisdom in our decision." Zeus said dismissively, not even bothering to address Percy. "What I would like to know now is: what are the Infinity Stones?"

. . .

 **Thor**

Thor turned back towards the gods. He would deal with those two demigod traitors later. Every belief and assumption he'd had about them was true . . . he had fallen prey to their lies, to their young age and trusting faces, and paid the price. And he would deal with them, after he had dealt with their double-faced brutes for parents.

"They are not your business," he snapped. The last thing he needed was these power-hungry Olympians going after one of the six stones.

Zeus did not take kindly to his tone. "Watch that tongue, Asgardian. Else I have it cut off."

Volstagg shifted, an irritated expression on his face. Thor could almost feel the waves of impatience flowing from the warrior. "Let us return home, Thor. These good for nothing savages are a waste of our time."

The Asgardian had changed in the short time that Thor had been away, and not for the better. Lines of disdain and discontent were carved into his face, and his hands seemed to be perpetually curled into angry fists. His clothes smelled of fresh and stale beer. Was he still suffering from the dark magic that Frey had used so many days ago?

"Disrespect us one more time, kid, I dare you," One of Zeus' sons snarled, a massive scythe materializing in his hand.

Volstagg growled, taking out his axe with a drunken flourish. "A relic of unimaginable power sits beneath your noses, but you have yet to find it." Fandral and Sif cried out in warning, but the damage had already been done. "Ha, what blind gods you are!"

" _Volstagg, that is enough_!" Thor snapped, furious. "If you cannot hold your liquor, keep your rambling mouth shut!"

Volstagg gave a teetering, sweeping bow, uncaring of the havoc he had wreaked. "If you wish, my prince."

The king of the gods seemed amused by the sudden outburst, and Thor resisted the urge to

wield Mjölnir and wipe that damned, smug smile off his face. "'A relic of unimaginable power'," Zeus repeated. "And you would take it from us? What do you wish to use it for?"

"You told Perseus that there were six of these stones," The grey-eyed goddess broke in. "Where do the other five lay?"

Thor remained silent, his face hard and emotionless.

Zeus wasn't perturbed. "No matter, that is all the information I need. Return to your realm, Thor Odinson, and do not step foot in this world again."

Thor took a step towards the god, and his son with the scythe rose to his feet in warning. "The Infinity Stones cannot be wielded by the likes of even you, Zeus. If you are to find it, I ask— _beg_ of you to safeguard the relic, not use it."

"Do not give me orders, child," Zeus warned. "I will not let such power find its way to the likes of you."

Thor growled with frustration. "As Prince of Asgard, I ask that you heed my—"

"But I am finished listening, to all of you." Zeus cut through him, rising to his feet, addressing both the Asgardians and the two demigods. "Leave, and do not return."

And before Thor could say anything else, the god slashed his hand through the air. The last thing he saw was the smug smile on the king's face, and then his feet struck cold and slippery ground. His knees buckled from the impact, and he landed face-first in a heap of snow. The smell of brine and sound of crashing waves filled his senses.

Groaning, he lay still for a moment, feeling for any broken bones. In front of him, his breaths condensed in the cold air. Assured of his relatively okay state, he got to his knees, clumps of snow falling from his clothes and a deep chill already seeping into his skin, overriding some of his adrenaline and anger. Wiping snow off his face, he looked around to see that he was on the beach, right outside of the boundaries of Camp Half-Blood. Nearby, his friends lay in similar states of disarray, scrambling to their feet.

Fandral was already cussing even as he slipped on the snow, his boots unaccustomed to the white stuff. "Those damned swines and cowards! We should never have come h—oomph!" The Asgardian tripped and fell into a snow drift, still shooting off increasingly dark profanities.

"They are not to be trusted," Hogun agreed.

"Nor the demigods," Fandral added furiously, straightening and shaking his wet, blonde locks. The warrior was shivering slightly. "All of them are agents of the gods."

Sif did not look convinced. "We cannot assume their intentions—they looked equally surprised and irate with their parents."

"It is possible that they were not aware of the gods' plan," Hogun said quietly, even as Fandral gave a snort of disbelief.

"A waste of time, I say," Volstagg staggered to his feet.

Thor narrowed his eyes. "I don't want to hear another word from you!" He snapped, approaching his friend and glaring at him. "You gave them dangerous information—placed a weapon directly into their hands!"

"My friend, you have not been well the last few days," Sif said. "What is wrong?"

Volstagg bared his teeth, but did not utter another word. But Thor's attention had already turned towards someone else.

"You!" He stalked towards the two demigods who were picking themselves off the ground, brushing snow off their clothes, and raised his hammer threateningly. "You traitorous spies!"

* * *

 **So, what do you think? Worlds are starting to collide ;)**

 **Comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Next chapter will be released in several days, and I'll be responding to PMs over the course of the next few hours. Thank you so much for your understanding and Happy New Year!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Response to Guest Reviews**

 **Mango Goddess** : hello! Ah, your enthusiasm is awesome, thank you for your comments, they made my day! So sorry it took so long for me to update, school and all. I can only hope that you are still following this story, it's about to get super crazy ;) Hope you enjoy the newest chapter!

 **Guest (Nov. 3rd)** : Thank you, and thank you for your understanding! I am planning to include some aspects, but I won't be committing fully to the plot lines. At some point, I need to diverge from the cinematic universe and make this its own story, you know? Thank you for your comments, hope you're still reading this story - enjoy the update!

 **Sky Cat** : Yes, I am alive haha. thank you for your comments and understanding, enjoy the newest chapter!

 **Guest (Nov. 1)** : As in chapter updates or plot . . . ? Sorry for the delay, school was crazy. Enjoy the update!

 **Guest (Oct. 12)** : Agreed, I decided to exclude Riordan's Eqyptian and Norse counterparts early on while writing this story, the number of characters and storylines becoming involved is already a lot to handle, haha

 **Guest (Sep. 3)** : Promise the story gets better if you keep with it :) But if it's not your cup of tea, no worries.

 **Guest (Aug. 10)** : Thank you! Thor's involvement with the dryads is a little tumultuous at the moment, but we'll see where it leads ;) And Percy and Thor's hammer . . . I've got things planned for them, haha. Enjoy the newest update!

 **Astra** : Thank you for your comments! With regards to your discussion about the irresponsible nature of the Avengers' actions, I don't always agree with the arguments that I write out, haha. You're right, it is unfair, and the demigods have a long ways to go before they can understand the magnitude of the Avengers' problems compared to their own. And the blowback will always be bigger. Sorry for the long delay, hope you're still following the story - enjoy the newest chapter!

 **Guest (Aug. 8)** : Yup, it's finally upon us! And while it may truly be inevitable, there'll be a lot of twist and turns to make it worthwhile to put up a fight ;) So many questions, and maybe some answers in this newest chapter. Enjoy!

 **Guest (Jul. 29)** : This is an amazing plot, you seem to know a lot about the Inhuman story line - comics? Unfortunately, inhumans will not be in this story . . . I don't have much knowledge about them, and I'm unwilling to write blindly and mangle characters. However, if you have a fanfiction account, it wouldn't hurt to start writing your own story, your plot looks thorough, well-thought out and absolutely heart breaking. Let me know what becomes of it!

 **Guest (Jul. 17)** : Thank you so much for your comments! I love writing the POVs with Percy and Barton, I have such fun with them. So sorry for the long delay, enjoy the newest update!

 **NotBibleCANON** : Unfortunately, neither the Kanes or Chase will be in this story. The cast has gotten so large and there are so many plot lines, adding an entire other universe would be incredibly difficult, i don't have that kind of skill unfortunately.

 **D** : For sure, I always try to go slow and ensure that the plot is thorough. But I also know I've been building up to a climax for 30 chapters, and it's time to deliver, haha. You're not out of line, I welcome constructive criticism and I can see where you're coming from - sometimes I feel the plot is too much as well, but I've gone so far and the pieces are starting to fall into place, so I'm just forging ahead now. Hope it doesn't dissuade you from continuing with the story - if you're still following it after such a long absence of updates - enjoy the newest update!

 **Achievement:** Thank you, I'm so sorry for the long absence! Querci and Cersei definitely share some similarities, and it's about to get more interesting ;)

 **Guest (Jun. 30):** Thank you so much, enjoy the newest chapter!


	32. Civil War: Middle of Knowhere

**Hey guys, here's part 2 of the update!**

 **IMPORTANT NOTE: I posted a chapter a few days ago, for those who are unaware. Just want to highlight that and ensure nobody reads this chapter prior to the last one.**

 **Hope you guys like the chapter - Civil War the movie is wrapping up, and one of our beloved characters is going into space ;)**

 **And just realized that I crossed the 200k word mark, ahh! Longest story I've ever written, love ya guys!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Civil War: In the Middle of Knowhere**

 **Bruce Banner**

 _Bruce had never heard a more dreaded sound than the beep of that ended call. God, he was so stupid. The moment he'd heard that robotic voice respond, his limbs had frozen up. He'd forgotten the voice modification program embedded in the phones, protecting the identity of the operatives. Before he could frantically redial, the door of his prison was thrown open and four HYDRA agents flooded in . . ._

After his failed attempt at escape, Bruce became increasingly terrified of the possibility that he may never see blue skies and sunny days again. All he could hear was Tony's furious voice, and that dreadful tone after he'd hung up on him. He felt rejected and betrayed, which was ironic, considering how many years he'd been on the run. He thought he'd become immune to those emotions.

Would he ever be found? Maybe dead. He tried to imagine what his funeral would look like, but the drug pumping through his veins was making it hard to keep ahold of his thoughts. It would have to be at an undisclosed location, otherwise someone would probably steal his body . . . how many people would attend . . . he couldn't recall if he wanted a burial or cremation, maybe . . . there would be him, and that blonde guy, and a red-haired woman . . . her name, what was her name? . . . words spoken by a low voice with a hoarse laugh, a lullaby . . .

And the soothing voice suddenly burst into a loud _BANG!_ as the door of his prison was thrown open and several HYDRA operatives ran in. One was speaking English, and Bruce struggled to dismiss residual thoughts, trying to concentrate on the here and now.

". . . must hurry, I want to be gone before they arrive! No, idiot—I want him alive!" A gunshot rang out as the speaker killed one of his comrades before he could execute Bruce. "You—see if we can transport the cryostasis pods."

"Sir, it's impossible—they're too large."

An angry growl, a moment of thought. "Fine, stow him. The rest of you, to the helicopter!"

There was a scrambling of feet, and then Bruce felt his limp body being lifted up. He saw the unshaven line of a jaw . . . glaring, yellow lights . . . bodies, sitting behind grimy panels of glass, tubes attached everywhere . . . what had he said again? Cryostasis pods.

Bruce gave a weak cough, trying to fight the drug. A flick of the wrist, and all of his energy was sapped.

The doctor fell unconscious even as his body was stuffed into the sixth cryo chamber.

. . .

A few hundred miles away, a young man frowned at his map while the cold Siberian winds outside rocked his rented jeep vehicle, whipping snow against the windows. He traced a calloused finger along an imaginary line. The base should be . . . here.

Tossing the map in the backseat, he pressed down on the gas pedal and the car jumped forward. Considering how long he had been tracking this group, Mr. Banner had better not be dead yet.

Gods, what a waste of time that would be.

. . .

 **One hour later.**

He strode through the cavernous room, the gun held lightly in his hand. The bodies of the five remaining soldiers floated in their glowing yellow pods, suspended and preserved. Remnants of an old era. Born to tear down the world, only to be used as a lure.

He raised the gun. Now, they were of no use to him. Five gunshots rang out, shattering grimy glass and releasing suspension. It gushed out, leaving the bodies to hang in their tubes.

A sixth? Helmut Zemo frowned as he noticed the remaining pod, a body floating behind obscure glass. The mission book had not mentioned a sixth soldier. But nevertheless . . . he raised the gun again, firing the final shot.

Then he strode out of the room, his task complete. There was nothing left to do. He had lit the spark.

Rogers and Stark would be the flame.

. . .

Less than ten minutes later, even as Helmut made his final preparations only a few dozen feet above in another room, a young man appeared in the shadows of the cavernous room. A gun held loosely at his side, he moved quietly along the wall, keeping an eye out for security cameras even as he took in the cryostasis pods before him. So it had been true all along. HYDRA had successfully created their own super serum-enhanced task force.

Before someone put a bullet in each of them. The young man frowned. Strange. Why would HYDRA take Bruce Banner all the way out here, and then destroy their only chance at world domination?

One, two, three . . . six soldiers altogether. Except—the young man's eyes widened as he realized who was in the sixth cryo pod.

"Don't be dead," he muttered to himself as he hurried to the body in the final pod. What a waste of time and money that would be. Approaching the pod, he gave a quiet sigh of relief. Plenty of death surrounding this place, but not the man. Avoiding the shattered glass, he checked for a pulse even as he knew his answer.

Bruce Banner was alive. Barely.

That was the best he could hope for, considering the bullet he'd evidently taken in the chest. How long he'd been laying here, unconscious and bleeding out, he wasn't sure. Why someone would stuff him in a cryo pod, he was even less sure.

With strength that would have surprised had there been an onlooker, the young man lifted Bruce out of the pod with ease and disappeared into the shadows once more.

And appeared in the shadow of his jeep, just a hundred feet north from the old HYDRA compound. He must have done something in that short time since removing him from the pod, because just as he set the man down in the cold snow, he felt the last shreds of life disappear from Bruce Banner's body.

"Shit!" The young man growled, throwing open the back of the jeep and ravaging through his many belongings. Where was it, where had he put it? There! He grabbed the mobile defibrillator and dropped it in the snow, already charging up the device to maximum voltage and cleaning the paddles. Some residual beef jerky and ketchup on the left one, but good enough. He unceremoniously ripped open the man's shirt, frowned at all the chest hair and grabbed the paddles.

"Three, two, one—" he pressed the paddles in the appropriate position just as the device beeped. Bruce Banner's body arched from the discharge of energy, his eyes flying wide open.

. . .

 **Bruce**

"Hey, stay with me!"

It felt like a rude awakening. A slap in the face, a pinch on the arm—whatever it was, it _hurt_. It felt like his chest had been cracked open, and his body felt so cold, his bones so stiff. He tried to say something, but realized his lungs were blocked. He coughed, tasting blood. Above him, a man snapped his fingers, shouting at him. He could barely understand what he was saying, it felt like he were on the edge of death. Maybe he was already dead.

"—need you to turn . . . alright?!" The man shouted. "Do you understand? I . . . turn . . . to Hulk! If you don't, you're dead!"

He tried to shake his head, nod, twitch his fingers but all he could feel was a chill seeping into his body. "I . . . I—"

"Don't talk! Turn . . . Hulk! Now!" The man yelled.

Bruce couldn't barely feel anything now, his eyelids slowly closed. The last thing he remembered was another shock to the chest and then . . . a thunderous roar of anger.

* * *

 **Germany**

The two of them looked through the glass, watching as Rhodes went through the MRI. At least he was alive. Vision didn't know what he would do if he weren't. He didn't know what Tony would do. Ever since yesterday, it felt like there was a wall between the two of them. A silence.

Tony paced back and forth, a subdued agitation in his step. "How did this happen?" He asked.

"I became distracted." Vision said quietly.

Tony shook his head. "I didn't think that was possible."

Vision looked at him. "Neither did I."

Stark turned away. On his face, Vision got a glimpse of . . . betrayal. Disgust.

He was angry. Vision could understand. He felt . . . angry, as well. Though he wasn't sure at whom. At himself? At Wanda? Or perhaps this was not anger. Perhaps this was what guilt felt like.

So many feelings, he didn't know what do with them. He could feel his grasp on control slip away. Yesterday, he had not acted on logic, he had simply . . . acted. Instinctually, upon emotion. Upon the anger and hurt of seeing Wanda injured.

Was it possible that he had purposefully targeted Rhodes because he had used his sonic disruptors upon Wanda? Had it truly been a mistake, or was there some part of him that had wanted to exact revenge? He'd just heard the command and aimed at the target, like he'd always done.

Vision looked down at his hands. He'd always recognized his capacity to damage and destroy. And discerning the enemy to be targeted was but an easy task. But what if his emotions were leading his clear mind astray? How misled could he become?

Millions of bodies, strewn everywhere—Vision clenched his hands into fists, unwilling to pursue the thought. He was healthy, nothing was wrong. That strange daydream he'd had yesterday was toying with his mind.

 _"The end is nigh._

 _A seeker of stones,_

 _The mad titan_

 _Courts death . . ._

He watched as the MRI progressed, the colonel giving some light conversation even as his legs lay still as stone.

* * *

 **Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean**

The storm Tony travelled through was tumultuous, to say the least. It was as if the sea and sky were getting ready to tear each other's throats out. But the nut job weather was currently the least of his worries.

New intel was beginning to cast doubts on Barnes' involvement in UN attack—video footage pulled up by Friday showed that one Helmut Zemo had posed as the doctor originally tasked to perform the psych evaluation on Barnes. According to Friday, Zemo was formerly Sokovian intelligence as a colonel in a covert kill squad. He retired after his family was killed during the Ultron Offensive.

Tony was getting the feeling he would soon be on the end of a big 'I told you so' from Steve. But first things first . . .

He looked down just in time to see a massive structure rise out of the dark, tumultuous waves. The infamous Raft. He couldn't help but look at the prison with disgust. He had helped fund its design with SHIELD, and now he was visiting his friends—hopefully they were still friends—in the same construct.

The moment he landed and got out of the chopper, Ross was standing a dozen feet away, waiting. Despite their mostly mutually beneficial relationship history, Tony had mixed feelings about the man at this point. He'd gone from hunting Bruce Banner, trying to cage him, to being in charge of a prison currently housing four heroes turned international war criminals. He had been promoted, one could say. And it was evident he was enjoying every second of it.

"So, you got the files?" Tony assumed, tucking away his shades. "Let's reroute the satellites, start facial scanning for this Zemo guy."

Ross scoffed. Yup, he was enjoying every second. "You seriously think I'm gonna listen to you after that fiasco in Leipzig? You're lucky you're not in one of these cells."

The best Tony got was a tour, and he was greeted with a slow, mocking clap the moment he entered the cell area.

"The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what's best for you, like it or not," Clint said derisively, his tone heavy with contempt.

Tony stopped before his cell. "Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they'd put you here. Come on."

Clint spat on the ground, not bothering to look up at him. "Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony." He finally speared him with a hard gaze. Tony was reminded that there were many reasons people called him Hawkeye.

"Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey. This place is for maniacs. This is a place for . . ."

"Criminals?" Clint got to his feet, peering at him through the reinforced glass and metal bars. "Criminals, Tony. Think that's the word you're looking for. Right? That didn't used to mean me. Or Sam. Or Wanda. But here we are."

"Because you broke the law," Tony responded finally.

"Yeah," Clint scoffed, turning his back to him. "La, la, la, la . . ." It was evident from his mocking singsong tone that the archer wasn't in the mood to listen.

"I didn't make you."

"La, la, la, la, la, la . . ."

"You read it, you broke it.

"La, la, la, la, la . . ."

"You're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don't understand, why didn't you think about them before you chose the wrong side?"

Clint turned towards him suddenly, his eyes hard. He'd struck a nerve. Even as Tony walked away, he could feel the man's eyes carving a hole into his back.

"You better watch your back with this guy!" Clint slammed his fists into the bars, the ominous bang echoing through the room. "Chances are he's gonna break it!"

Tony struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

Passing by another cell, a man inside gripped the cell bars, eyeing him. "Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark."

Tony frowned. Wasn't this the guy who turned into the extra large giant at the airport? "Who are you?"

The man groaned in disbelief. "Come on, man."

Tony ignored him, stopping at Wilson's cell.

The ex-pilot looked resolved to his fate. "How's Rhodes?" He finally asked.

"They're flying him to Columbia Medical tomorrow. Fingers crossed." Tony looked him over. "What do you need? They feed you yet?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You're the good cop, now?"

"I'm just the guy who needs to know where Steve went."

Sam gave him a hard look. "Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you're gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me."

Tony sighed, already well ahead of him. A couple of deft taps on his watch and . . . done. "Well, I just knocked the A out of their AV. We got about 30 seconds before they realise it's not their equipment." He could already imagine Ross barking at bewildered technicians and hitting the monitors in anger.

Sam still didn't look convinced, remaining near the back of his cell.

Tony opened up the hologram on his watch, making sure to keep his back blocking the cameras he'd marked on his way in. "Just look. Because that . . ." An image of a deceased man in his hotel room floated, "is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake." Tony pressed. "Sam, I was wrong."

"That's a first." Sam snorted.

"Cap is definitely off the reservation . . . but he's about to need all the help he can get. We don't know each other very well. You don't have to—"

"Hey," Sam shook his head, "it's alright." The man sighed, his resistance crumbling. It was clear he knew just how critical the situation was. "Look, I'll tell you . . . but you have to go alone and as a friend."

"Easy."

Brushing off questions from Ross as he headed out, he ordered the chopper back to the Avengers facilities before dropping out in an iron man suit and shooting through the storm, bound for Siberia.

Maybe it was time for both of them to fess up to their mistakes. It still wasn't too late.

 _I'm coming, Cap_.

* * *

It did not have the ending that either Steve or Tony expected, or wanted. The Avengers felt like a distant memory, divided and then shattered in one vicious fight that left Tony's suit mangled, Barnes' arm brutally torn off, and perhaps . . . perhaps a war hero lost.

The shield lay a foot away, and Tony couldn't bring himself to pick it up. His bones ached, his head throbbed and it felt as if there were a massive hole in his chest.

Technically, there was. Looking down and examining his arc reactor, it was clear that it was beyond repair. Cleaved right in half.

By that damn shield.

The same shield that his father had designed and created. Paired with a war uniform also designed by his father, and worn by one of the most iconic war heroes of any century. Steve always said that he and Howard had been great friends. And from the number of times Howard mentioned Captain America during Tony's childhood, it was evident that the inventor had been an admirer. And how did Steve repay him? By protecting the man who murdered him and Maria Stark.

Tony grit his teeth and finally picked up the star-emblazoned vibranium. Steve Rogers didn't deserve this shield. He didn't deserve to be Captain America.

After a moment, Tony stood up and limped his way out of the compound.

. . .

 _Tony,_

 _I'm glad you're back at the compound, I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere – even in the Army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but – maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you Tony. I guess I thought – by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but . . . I can see now I was really sparing myself. I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do . . . it's all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise you – if you need us, if you need me . . . I'll be there._

 _Steve_

He looked at the bulky, outdated flip phone that had come with Steve's note. Typical.

It'd been a little over a day since Tony returned from Serbia, beat and exhausted, his black eye—courtesy of Barnes—still throbbing. The Avengers compound was a bittersweet sight now, the empty rooms and quiet halls unsettling and lonely. He had Rhodes, who was undergoing his rehabilitation with a steadfast attitude, although he could see the pain that came with the loss of his legs every day.

Vision was here, as well, but . . . he wasn't entirely here. He disappeared for many hours of the day, kept to himself, and Tony couldn't bring himself to comfort the guy. Every time he tried, the sight of Rhodes struggling even with his leg implants and casts stopped him in his tracks.

Tony didn't need to be told the irony of the situation. That they had spent five years operating as a team with the goal of protecting the people, only for one of those very people to dismantle them with an ease identical to Mjölnir taking apart a child's lego structure. Just one minute to unravel everything they had accomplished.

Public affairs kept Tony busy and distracted. It was time to regroup, reassess and deal with the consequences of all their actions. Everybody currently in the Avengers had signed the Accords—everybody translating to Vision, Rhodes, and himself. They were officially under the thumb of whatever council the international community could cook up. Natasha had also signed, but she was keeping her distance. Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her at the compound.

Zemo was being held in the Raft, and would be put on trial in a few days. T'Challa had all but disappeared back to Wakanda, slipping away before he was forced to sign the Accords. The sly cat. And according to the United Nations, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Scott Lang and Wanda Maximoff had all been deemed war criminals, dangerous and on the run. Tony couldn't tell anyone otherwise, but he could sit back as Ross rang him up and urgently informed him a Raft prison break was currently underway.

He hated Steve's guts, but . . . he wasn't ready to visit him behind plexiglass, bound at the wrists and ankles with magnetic cuffs and bio-dampeners.

He looked out the window, grimacing. And of course, the weather was a whole 'nother matter. Why it had decided to snow in the middle of summer, neither he or Friday knew. Nearly all commercial flights had been grounded. Cities accustomed to the cold (during the proper months) were going into full-on winter mode, while annually warm regions called in military forces and international aid as they struggled with the cold and snow. Economists struggled to project the amount of money lost due to a massive number of factors including closed businesses, damage to infrastructure and monuments, destruction of human and animal habitat, and loss of prime crops. Given the current circumstances, people would probably start blaming the Avengers if answers weren't found soon. It seemed they were becoming a scapegoat of sorts for all the problems of the world.

Tony glared at the desk phone, watching the red light beep on the interface. At least he got to put Ross on hold. He wasn't a spiteful or petty person . . . but it was nice hearing the man get his knickers in a twist over this prison break.

* * *

 **Steve**

Sam watched as the metal bars and glass receded upwards, unable to stop the smile surfacing on his face. "About time."

"Sorry, got tied up in Siberia." Steve said ruefully.

The two embraced, clapping one another on the back.

"We didn't know if you were dead or still fighting those winter soldiers . . ." Sam stepped back, regarding his friend. "You look like shit."

"You don't look too great yourself," Steve gave a brief laugh, noting the prison uniform and tired gaze of the ex-pilot.

"Well, we've been cooped up here for what feels like months," Clint stepped out of his cell and stretched, whistling appreciatively as he noted the unconscious guards sprawled across the floor just outside the room. "Wondering when someone was going to bust us out. Where's Barnes, by the way? Thought he'd be with you."

Steve grimaced, and no one missed the pain in his eyes. "Long story."

"And it's only been four days . . . trust me, I've done my time," Scott Lang assured Clint, crossing his arms as if to prove his point.

"Sure, tic-tac," Sam responded.

Scott frowned. "Every time you say that, it sounds like an insult. I'd like a new nickname."

"Probably broken a couple dozen laws, federal and international, so how about we get going and trade insults on the way," Steve said, starting towards Wanda's cell. He clenched his jaw in anger as he realized the state that she was in.

The metal bars and glass were gone, but the Sokovian had yet to leave her confined space. She sat quiet and still as Clint struggled with the collar around her neck. The straightjacket she'd been forced to don had yet to be removed, keeping her hands—and her powers—restricted.

Wanda herself looked terrible. Dark circles under defeated eyes, her head bowed . . . She was just a kid, but a massive burden and exhaustion seemed to weigh on her shoulders.

"Here—" Steve stepped in, taking out a knife and deftly cutting through the bindings of the jacket. The material came apart, and he tossed it to the ground before moving on to the collar. Wanda barely moved, her arms and hands staying close by her side as if they were still immobilized in those positions.

"Damned thing won't come off," Clint growled, trying to cut it away with another knife that Steve handed to him. The archer looked just as angry as Steve felt, maybe angrier. "Ross called it—" he wedged the knife into a chink of the plating, "—a bio-energy dampener."

 _Crack_. Clint finally managed to take off the protective metal case and Steve crushed the rest of the collar with one hand, disposing of the delicate inner wiring across the cell floor.

Wanda looked at Clint finally, her body still limp and defeated. "I'm not leav—"

"Oh no you don't," Clint overrode her. "Up you get, c'mon." He physically pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. "I don't want to hear your BS. You're leaving this place."

Wanda shook her head, unwilling to take another step. "You don't understand—I belong here. I-I can't leave."

"We're all leaving, including you," Sam said firmly.

"Hey, Wanda," Scott placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, and Steve was reminded that the two had only known each other for less than a week. "Maybe you're feeling guilty, and maybe we all belong in some kind of detention centre. But I also know that being in prison, even if you don't deserve it, can convince you that you belong here anyway. But . . . we don't belong here," he waved his hand around the room. "And, based on personal experience, having a mental breakdown while trying to complete a prison break is really bad timing. So . . ." He guided her out of the cell, and she reluctantly let him. "Let's get out of here while we still can and give ourselves a slap on the arm when we're not in supermax."

Finally, Wanda nodded and the four prisoners and their saviour hurried out of the prison, making their way to the quinjet that Steve had taken to arrive in the first place.

Sam fell in step with Scott, giving the thief a nod.

"Nice going, tic-tac."

"Thanks! Back when I was doing time for—"

"Don't push it."

* * *

 **Percy**

 _"You!" Thor stalked towards the two demigods who were picking themselves off the ground, brushing snow off their clothes, and raised his hammer threateningly. "You traitorous spies!"_

Percy barely had enough time to draw Riptide before Thor raised his hammer, ready to summon a bolt of lightning that would come down and smite him into a greasy spot in the snow.

But there was only a rumble of thunder before the clouds flashed with lightning like a massive, malfunctioning lamp, as if the bolt were being withheld by the heavens.

It looked as if Zeus had put a stop to having his trademark element being used by the Asgardian.

Thor's face darkened even further. "You think your gods can protect you forever?" He threw his hammer at Percy, the weapon making a deadly metallic echo as it shot towards him. Percy dived to his left just in time, rolling back to his feet only to duck as the hammer curved like a boomerang and returned to its owner. Straightening, he was met with a wide arcing swipe at his head by the lankier Asgardian, Fandral. The stout man (Vole Stag?) watched the fight with disinterest, as if he couldn't care less who was killed.

"We didn't know!" Percy grunted, catching Fandral's blade at the hilt and trying to disarm him. But the man was stronger than he looked, yanking his blade back and taking Riptide with it.

"We would never spy on you," Annabeth added, eyeing the woman named Sif as they circled one another, both of their weapons out. A dagger versus a long staff. _Shink!_ A long staff tipped with a blade on either end.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Sif asked, not taking her eye off the dagger.

"They are lies!" Thor growled. Behind him, the black-haired, oriental looking Asgardian pulled back on his shoulder, saying something quietly. But Thor shook him off, unwilling to listen. "Your promise of friendship, to help find the relic, all lies!" He leapt at Percy, but the ocean had finally had enough. A massive wave crashed inland, body checking a midair Thor and sweeping Fandral off his feet before he could have another go at him. The two flailed in the frigid, tumultuous waves, giving shouts of anger.

"I promised to help only if _you_ helped fix everything with the nymphs!" Percy snapped. "Which, by the way, you didn't! Instead of apologizing and making peace, you started a fight!"

"Foolish demigods!" Fandral hissed in pain, his lips turning blue as he staggered out of the water, his sword held limply in his hand.

"That was their own fault!" Thor struggled to his feet, giving a deadly glare as seaweed clung to his legs and water streamed out of his hair and clothes. With the cold, Percy was surprised the two weren't frozen statues by now. "They should not have asked for Mjölnir. Those elfin sprites—"

"NYMPHS!" Percy shouted. "Dryads! Satyrs! Not stupid _elfin sprites_! How hard is it for you to remember?" The ocean waves pounded harder, fueled by his anger. Gods, he wanted to swear nine miles to the Underworld. After everything he had told the Asgardian, after he promised to help them, he'd gone out of his way to provoke the nymphs. Didn't he understand? He'd just started a war between the nymphs and gods! "Get it through that thick—"

"They are inferior creatures that I have wasted much time on, for you!" Thor spat. "I was foolish to think that a demigod would help me find my relic."

Inferior creatures. That's how he saw the nymphs. He should've known it would end like this. All the Asgardian wanted was to find his magic relic. Percy shook his head, drawing Riptide out of his pocket and levelling the sword at Thor. "Clearly, you were. So leave—go back to Asgard."

Thor pointed Mjölnir at Percy. "I am not leaving without the—"

"Forget about your stupid stone!" Percy snapped. "Get out before you get kicked out."

"That would be the wise choice," someone said, coming up from behind Percy. "You are no longer welcome, Thor Odinson." Chiron had his bow drawn, a notched arrow pointing straight at the Asgardian. The centaur did not look happy.

"It is time for us to leave," Sif agreed, going to Thor's side. It didn't look as if she had traded any blows with Annabeth. In fact, if Percy didn't know any better, a brief moment of understanding seemed to travel between the two. She turned to look at the demigods and centaur even as the other Asgardians drew to her side. "We apologize for what trouble we have caused."

"Lady Sif—"

The woman traded a look with Thor, and he finally gave a reluctant nod. "Very well." He cast a final look at his former friends, pointing his hammer at them. "You had better hope we never cross paths again, demigod." Then without another word, he looked up at the sky and shouted, "Heimdall!"

Almost immediately, a massive column of blazing, white energy roared down from the sky, engulfing the five Asgardians. Both Percy and Annabeth staggered away, taken aback by the sudden heat and light. Then as quick as it had come, it retreated back into the clouds, leaving behind nothing but a strange, smoking symbol burned into the wet ground, the steam from the evaporated snow and ice already freezing in the cold air.

The return to Camp was not enjoyable. While Annabeth was greeted with joy and relief, news of the wayward negotiations with the nymphs quickly had everyone pestering Percy, trying to make sense of the events. It turns out that after they had been whisked away to Olympus, Jason had gone back to Camp, giving few answers and even more questions. All the while, snow continued to fall, covering everything in an ominous white blanket and destroying most of the gardens and crops with sudden frostbite even as Calypso and the Demeter cabin frantically tried to save them. Emergency hearths and bonfires were lit and winter jackets were doled out, but they could only prepare so much for a summertime snowfall.

Annabeth called a meeting with the entire camp in the mess pavilion, trying to calm fears and stop panic before it spread. It didn't work very well.

"You're telling us that the nymphs want nothing to do with anybody now, and neither you—nor the _gods_ —know who is responsible for this snow. Oh, and apparently we have yet another _incomplete_ prophecy that could be far worse than the last two great prophecies that we've suffered through!" Malcolm finished, shaking his head in disbelief as he nursed cold fingers.

" _Di immortals_ ," someone said quietly.

Apparently, immediately after the snow had started, Rachel had received a prophecy unlike any she had ever delivered. It had not come from Delphi, nor Apollo. She believed it had come from the Fates themselves.

"Them, the Parcae and three . . . others," Rachel had told Jason through IM immediately after, clearly shaken by the events. "They were . . . old. Very, very old. I don't know how the Greek and Roman counterparts were able to exist as two separate entities. And they weren't alone—there was someone else with them. I think-I think it was trying to stop them." She had swallowed, and for the first time since the demigod had met her, the tough and brazen oracle had looked scared. "It did stop them."

No one wanted to consider the worst case scenario. The Fates would not let a mere disturbance silence them forever. Unless . . .

"I don't think either the Fates or Parcae can be killed," Jason said silently, addressing what they were all thinking. And yet, he sounded unsure.

"We need to focus on the prophecy now," Annabeth said firmly, addressing all the demigods in the pavilion, her back straight and her eyes focussed. Percy forgot how much he missed that intense gaze of hers. He also forgot how well she could give the silent treatment. Since they had entered Camp, she hadn't spoken a word to him. "We need to figure out the missing lines, and what they mean. Somehow, it's connected to this snow."

"Not to be a party pooper, but it barely makes sense, even for normal prophecy standards," Leo pointed out. "'Mad titan'? I don't think any of them follow that title, unless it means 'angry'. Then it could apply to all of them from the titan war, couldn't it? And 'thunder's hammer'? Or the 'City of Gold'? Man, if I knew there was a city made of gold, I wouldn't be here right now. And has anyone noticed that this prophecy doesn't even _rhyme_? I always hated it, but I think I'm starting to miss those verses right about now."

"Please, my boy, let us take a moment to compose ourselves." Chiron said quietly. "As Miss. Dare had informed us, this is no ordinary prophecy."

"Yeah, because someone went out of their way to make damn sure Rachel wouldn't get it," Clarisse said. "Someone powerful enough to take on the Fates and _win_."

Demigods stirred in their seats and on their feet, uneasy.

"Someone said from Camp Jupiter that the prophecy has already started." A young Hecate kid said.

"Obviously," Clarisse rolled her eyes. "The final winter will arrive before the leaves have fallen, or something like that."

"'Ere the boughs are shed of leaves'," Annabeth recited. "And it's believed that the 'bird apocalypse' that recently occurred, along with the presence of sparti at the other camp may be associated with the line, 'Pestilence will rot the beasts'."

"But the gods didn't mention it at all?" Jason asked, frowning.

Annabeth shook her head. "No. Looking back, I don't know why we didn't even discuss it . . ."

"Apollo." Percy finally spoke up, standing only a few feet to Annabeth's right.

For the first time since they'd returned, she finally made eye contact with him, realization dawning on her face. "Apollo is still absent," she nodded, understanding.

"So, what—without the god of prophecies, the rest of Olympus doesn't know about this?" Piper asked, disbelieving.

"Maybe, but they're bound to find out soon, if they haven't already." Percy said, shifting on his feet. He was tired—all he wanted was to go back to his cabin and bury under the blankets. Maybe when he woke up tomorrow morning, he'd find out that all of this was just a bad dream. "It's too big for them not to know."

"And what about Thor?" Malcolm asked. Everybody's ears perked up.

"Mr. Odinson has returned to his own realm," Chiron started, saving Percy the trouble of trying to devise some kind of explanation. "He is not returning in the foreseeable future."

"So . . . not friends anymore," Leo summed up. Piper elbowed him in the side, glaring at him. "Ow! Uh, shame, he left his stuff in the armoury."

"And if we're on the subject, what about the rest of the Avengers?" Malcolm continued, looking directly at Percy and Annabeth now. "After everything that's happened the last week, will you still continue to meet with them?"

Percy looked at the daughter of Athena, who looked back at him as if to say, _This is your mess to clean up, remember?_ Sometimes, he forgot that Annabeth could play that cruel streak just as well as any Ares kid. It reminded him of Athena every time. Looking back at the rest of the Pavilion, he said, "Well, I think that's primarily Annabeth's decision, considering she's the one who's been working for Tony Stark."

The daggers she glared at him promised him pain later. ". . . We will see," she said finally.

"And the nymphs?" Piper asked quietly. The Pavilion fell silent in mourning, eyes drawn to a satyr standing in the corner.

Grover shifted on his hooves, looking down at the floor with silence. When he finally looked up, tears were streaming down his face. "I . . . I don't know. The _aurae_ are still trying to find out what happened. W-we lost hundreds, thousands," he swallowed, twisting his rasta cap with shaking hands. "I don't—" The satyr shook his head, his voice failing him as if his throat was clogged with grief that no words could describe.

"Hey, man," Percy walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He would never have anything near the same kind of bond that Grover had with the wild community, and he already felt terrible. He couldn't imagine what his friend was going through. "I'm so sorry."

Eventually, the meeting descended into questions even as demigods began to troop back to their cabins, unwilling to hear any more bad news until they had had at least a few hours of sleep.

Percy kept by Grover's side as they left the Pavilion, grateful to be finally out from the spotlight.

"Percy . . ." Grover started, wiping tears from his face. "Do you—do you know what happened to Juniper? If she's . . . still alive?"

Percy felt a lump in his throat even as he responded. "No, I'm sorry, I don't know. But if she was in Central Park, then I think she'd be okay—the nymphs there didn't seem to be affected." It might have been because of their location right beneath Olympus, but no one knew for sure.

Grover nodded, sniffing. "I-I can't stay here, Percy. I have to find her. I have to find out what happened, and see how many dryads and naiads are left." At the last words, the satyr started crying again.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Grover. I'm so sorry," Percy repeated quietly, unable to help but feel that this was all somehow his fault.

Leaving Grover under the careful eye of Chiron, he headed back for his cabin, only to strike shoulders with a certain daughter of Athena. The two regarded each other silently even as Piper approached them, noted the standoff, and sighed, walking away to let her friends deal with their problems.

But Percy was no longer in the mood to argue. "I just wanted you to be happy," he said quietly. Then he walked away.

Annabeth watched with mixed feelings as her best friend disappeared around the corner of the Big House, heading back to his cabin.

"I know," she said quietly. And she just wanted honesty.

* * *

 **Querci**

" _You dared_?" The cloaked figure bore down on the oaken dryad, her normally peaceful face twisted with fury. "After everything we did for you—after I hid you from my brother's eye, after I smuggled you to the new lands, after Dionysus gave your sisters freedom to leave the camp grounds— _you dared to curse us_?"

Querci did not break eye contact with the goddess, her poster straight and unmoving. "Only after you 'dared' to wipe us from the earth. And I never asked for his help—he has never been a father —"

"Ungrateful dryad!" Demeter spat. "I should never have wasted my time on you! And once again, your pride has blinded you: _we were not responsible for these deaths_. Perhaps it is time you were reminded how lost you once were without my help!" And with that, the goddess disappeared in a furious explosion of wheat, the grain raining down on the two dryads left behind.

Querci's face remained unchanged as Lily placed a light hand on her shoulder. "You did what you thought was best," the naiad said quietly.

"And yet, you still do not agree with my choice." Querci responded.

Lily picked wheat out of her hair, avoiding the water lilies carefully tied into her braid. "Cursing them is always questionable. And after what she said . . . do you think she was speaking the truth? They didn't cause all these deaths?"

Querci's shoulders slumped, her doubts and vulnerabilities revealing themselves. "I do not know, sister. We have suffered the worst loss in history, suddenly find ourselves a scarce race across this Earth, and I do not know if I made the right choice." The dryad looked down at the smaller wild spirit. "Why did you choose to come here? Why did you join me?"

"Because you asked." Lily said simply. "Whatever your methods, your intentions are true."

"I have always questioned my methods," Querci sighed, her words heavy with regret and grief.

"But it's done. We can't change the past."

"But the past will always return to change the future," Querci swallowed. Just as her past with the gods was resurfacing, the curse she had cast would inevitably come back to twist what destiny the Fates had in store for her.

The dryad grasped Lily's hand. They stood there, two sisters searching for a moment of warmth amid the snow.

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy looked up at the bronze Hippocampi decorating the cabin ceiling, his eyes wide and alert even as he lay in bed.

He couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, his thoughts strayed towards his dad, and the look on his face as he tried to justify his actions.

He had been used by so many people, by so many gods. As a pawn of the first and second Great Prophecy, and in all of his quests. As a reluctant messenger, a thief, a fighter. Sometimes without his knowledge. The list was never ending. And yet, he'd always thought that Poseidon had his back. That even while he was bound by his godly duties and the Ancient Laws, he would always support him.

But nope, he was just like all the rest.

And yet, a part of him wanted to go down to the beach and find a bearded man fishing, complaining about game wardens and too-small serpents. And maybe offering an excusable explanation as to why he had done what he had done.

But a larger part of him wasn't about to let him off the hook that easy.

The turmoil of his thoughts wasn't going away, and if he lay here a minute longer, he was going to start bouncing off the walls. Walls that had been constructed in the name of Poseidon, housing a beautiful fountain given by Poseidon, in a bed crafted with Poseidon in mind. Yup, he had to get out of here. He pulled a sweater on and left the cabin.

Only to realize he had nowhere to go.

He was not in the mood to talk with Annabeth, and wasn't looking for advice from Chiron. His thoughts strayed to his mom, before he realized that he would have to tell her what had happened. And she would be beyond pissed with Poseidon, no doubt about it. He didn't want her to worry, not when everything was going for her right now. Nearly finished her first book, working at writing workshops across the city . . . he didn't want to spoil the good mood.

Or he could head downtown and talk to . . . but he barely knew them. And after what had happened, all the conflict splashed across the news, did he want to keep in contact with them? Annabeth had given no indication whether or not she would be going back to Stark Industries, and Percy wasn't about to ask her.

But hey, when was the last time he'd made friends with someone whom he hadn't fought alongside in some life-threatening situation? Maybe it was time to take a step back from the demigod world. Lighten up. Have a chat with a guy like Clint in a nice restaurant, or play ball with a normal kid like Peter.

Except, Peter definitely wasn't normal. He was freaking Spider-Man.

Well, he had the whole night to waste away. Might as well find out what this kid's deal was while he dropped by the Tower.

* * *

 **Peter**

Peter returned to NYC feeling like an entirely different person. The airport, _Captain America's shield_ , the tiny figurine who grew into a giant . . . he was bruised and concussed, and he'd never felt happier in his life. He wanted to perch on top of the Empire State Building and shout his lungs out.

But suddenly, the iconic building didn't seem so tall. The city's yawning skyscrapers and shining condos paled in comparison to the beautiful architecture of Berlin and the massive plane parts he had dodged. He'd gotten a taste of something besides New York, besides normal life, and now . . . now he wanted more.

His entire mood turned sour when he found out who was waiting for him in the Tower.

Happy dropped him off at the Avengers Tower after pulling out a painstaking promise to not touch anything in Mr. Stark's absence, even though Peter had already tinkered with half the stuff in the workshop. Knowing that he would have to return home in a few hours before his aunt became anxious and called the police, Peter drifted through the suite, chatting with Friday.

And stopped short when he saw the black-clothed man sitting at the empty bar, sipping some amber liquor.

"Hey there, Peter." Fury greeted him without turning. "Have fun in Germany?"

After all the excitement of international travel and fighting among the Avengers, Peter had almost forgotten his homebound problems. Almost.

"Y-yeah. Lots." Peter managed, not moving from his spot.

"Only been twice. Got a few friends there, that's it." Fury continued, finally standing and facing him. His dark shades were tucked away, but the eyepatch remained, his remaining eye looking at him unnervingly. "Make any new acquaintances?"

"Plenty. Probably a few who could kick your ass," Peter threatened, feeling more confidant. He'd faced down Captain America—he could take care of an ex-spy.

"Ooh, looks like you lost some manners over there," Fury laughed. "Can't blame you. This has been dragging longer than I have the patience for."

Peter blinked, unsure if he was hearing him correctly. "You mean . . . ?"

"You're off the hook, kid." Fury downed the last of his drink. "I'll take care of Percy Jackson."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"None of your business. Go do what you kids do, finish your internship. I'll give you a call if I need you again."

"Whoa, I'm not helping you again!" Peter said. "Ever. And if you come after me, Mr. Stark will—"

"Mr. Stark this, Mr. Stark that. He could be still be manufacturing bombs and you wouldn't see anything but a saint, would you? Asks you to join him on an adventure on the other side of the world, and bam—" Fury snapped his fingers. "You don't think twice about it."

"They needed to be stopped." Peter pressed. "They were helping a freaking terrorist!"

"You always eat up everything you're told? Maybe _Stark_ needed to stop them. And maybe he needed firepower, so he used you."

"He didn't force me onto that plane! I _chose_ to help him. You're the one who tried to use me!"

"And I never tried to hide it," Fury chuckled. "Look kid. I've known Tony for a long time, and he probably doesn't even know it, but he's using you all the same. A billionaire comes down to Queens to talk to a nobody?" Fury raised his eyebrow. "Get your head outta the gutters, kid. This ain't some bullies in the playground. This is real life, and you better start figuring out whose rules you gonna play by."

Peter shook his head. This guy didn't know what he was talking about. Tony was his friend—he'd never use him. "I'm playing by _my_ rules."

"You keep telling yourself that." Fury stood up, downing the rest of the drink before walking towards the elevators, patting Peter on the shoulder on his way. "Just giving you some advice kid, in case you didn't realize."

* * *

 **Percy**

Percy wished he had pulled on something thicker than a sweater and sneakers. By the time he arrived at the Tower, his fingers were freezing even as he tucked them under his armpits, and his toes felt like they were about to fall off. His shoes squeaking against the flawless marble floor of the lobby, the receptionist quietly gave him access to the elevator, directing it to the top suite.

He arrived on the floor just as one man was leaving. He was vaguely familiar . . . wait, he'd seen him last week, when he and Annabeth were fleeing the Tower and trying to escape from Thor. The dude who wore sunglasses and a trench coat—in the middle of a summer night.

The man came to a stop just as he was about to enter the elevator, regarding Percy with his dark spectacles.

"Uh, can I help you?" Percy asked, feeling a sudden urge to draw Riptide.

"Nah. Percy, right? Tony's said great things," the man gave a half-smile, as if they were old friends. The smell of liquor wafted through the air.

"Uh, thanks." Percy stepped out of the elevator and the man entered, his trench coat tails brushing against him. The guy was beginning to remind him of Nico, what with his whole black and aloof attire. "Don't think I ever got your name.

The man only smiled again. "See you around." He dipped his head in farewell even as the elevator doors closed shut.

Percy snorted. "No thanks."

Leaving behind the elevator, he drifted through the rest of the floor, but was disappointed. It was empty. Besides an empty glass sitting at the bar, he could find no company. He was about to leave when Friday's voice abruptly came to life.

"Mr. Jackson, it appears company is arriving from Asgard."

Percy blinked. Asgard? Oh gods, it'd only been a few hours and they were already coming back for round 2?

He heard a roar of wind and turned to see a familiar column of energy striking the landing pad outside. There was a moment of blinding heat and light, and then the portal disappeared again to reveal two people.

Percy cautiously approached them, his hand drifting to his pocket.

"Percy Jackson." The woman—Sif—spotted him and strode towards him quickly. There was a cut on her face, and her armour was covered in some strange, sticky substance. In one hand, she held her two-bladed staff. In the other, a . . . gun? Firearm? Blaster? Following closely behind was the man Fandral, who was similar armed. It looked as if they had just left a bloody battlefield.

Percy held out his hand, motioning for them not to come any closer. "What are you doing here? I thought Thor made his threat pretty cl—"

"We need your help, demigod."

Her tense tone made Percy do a double take. The Asgardian didn't seem like one to ask for help—whatever this was, it had to be big. "What kind of help? What's going on?"

Sif hissed impatiently. "I do not have time to explain—can you fight or not?"

"Yeah, I can. But let's clear something up—you need _my_ help?" Percy shook his head. "After everything Thor did?"

"Keep your arrogance," Fandral sniffed, already starting back towards the landing pad. "He is as dumb as a babe, Sif. We don't need him." His limping leg said otherwise.

Sif scowled at her comrade. "We need all the help that can be mustered, don't be a fool!" She turned back towards Percy, her dark eyes firm with resolve. "Please. From one warrior to another, I ask for your sword in combat."

His mom would be busy for another few hours, Annabeth wasn't talking to him, Tony was gone who knows where . . . and the fact that they were _asking for his help_? It had to be bad.

Percy straightened, nodding. "Alright. Long as he keeps his mouth shut," he nodded towards Fandral.

Sif didn't wait, immediately turning and running back to the landing pad. "Come! We must hurry!"

Percy followed on her heels, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Probably something he should have considered before he agreed to help. The three of them skidded onto the metal appendage of the Avengers Tower, the cold winds threatening to push them into the streets below. Didn't want to do that again. "Uh, where are we going, by the way?"

"Knowhere."

Percy blinked. "Uh, okay. Then what do you need me for?"

"No, imbecile. Know—"

Whatever else Fandral meant to say was overridden by the roar of the portal, and suddenly he was hurtling through blinding light. His body felt as if it were about to spontaneously combust into oblivion . . . his stomach wanted to barf itself out through his nose . . . was this air travel, because Zeus would definitely blast him . . . and was he really subjecting himself to this just because Annabeth wasn't talking to him. Out of the blue, he caught a sudden glimpse of a man, his piercing, golden eyes glowing beneath a massive helmet with two curving horns—

Solid ground suddenly struck his feet and he lurched forward, jelly legs sending him crashing down.

"Oh gods . . ." Percy clutched his stomach as he struggled back to his feet, only for Sif to shove him back to the ground right before something shot past, right through the spot his head had been.

"Don't get yourself killed, demigod!" Fandral shouted.

"Then maybe you should've told me where I was going before you teleported me here!" Percy yelled back. "Not freaking _nowhere_!"

A cluster of glowing blue bullets suddenly shredded a massive metal barrel two feet away from them, sending a shower of sticky, iridescent goo splattering all over. Percy gagged, the overwhelmingly repulsive smell flooding his nose. Sif answered with a few shots from her own gun, taking out a 7 foot . . . humanoid figure. With far more arms than the average human was bestowed. Maybe he was related to Brian, the Hundred Handed One? His brain was overloading with information, and his ears were getting crammed with noise. Screaming missiles, brightly-coloured bullets were whizzing and ricocheting everywhere. Commands for reinforcements and yells of pain filled any rare pockets of silence.

Percy looked at the dark, chaotic scene spread around him, above him, below him on other levels and platforms that jutted out from massive columns and yawning chasms. He was beginning to realize the enormity of the situation he'd gotten himself mixed up in. Everything seemed strange, otherworldly, alien. And . . . what was that?

 _No way . . . don't tell me those are what I think they are_ , Percy prayed as he looked through a 100 foot wide, grimy window. They could be planes, lighthouses, flying Leos in full-on fire mode, but not . . .

Stars.

He had entered a battlefield. In space.

* * *

 **So . . . that happened.**

 **School is starting up for me again at the end of this week, so I cannot guarantee when the next chapter is going to come out . . . Apologies in advance, you guys know me well enough at this point that it could be well into spring or summer before the next update, unfortunately.**

 **Fingers crossed that that does not happen, wish you all an awesome start to 2018!**

 **\- 100th Century**

* * *

 **Response to Guest Reviews**

 **Achievement** : Aw, that's more than understandable, my bad. Hope you're still able to enjoy the story, no worries otherwise. Happy New Year!


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